


Wandering Stars

by oracular_vernacular



Series: Cronos [1]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Belonging, Bullying, Child Cal Kestis, Childhood Trauma, Chronic Pain, Clone Wars, Clones, Found family themes, Gen, Identity Issues, brief moments with yoda plo koon and obi wan, irreverent mashing of the legends eu with cannon, no relationships until part 2
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-24
Updated: 2020-08-16
Packaged: 2021-03-05 01:14:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 29,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25495921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oracular_vernacular/pseuds/oracular_vernacular
Summary: Sol Tannor came to the Jedi by a strange route, and left them by an even stranger one. The child of a defected Mandalorian, she grew up on the run. Until fate led Mace Windu to her, and everything changed-- and kept changing.Never truly allowed to be a Mando, not quite enough to become a Jedi, and fundamentally different from the clones, finding her place in the galaxy is starting to feel like an insurmountable task.
Series: Cronos [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1881463
Comments: 9
Kudos: 30





	1. lost and found

**Author's Note:**

> so, this is the story of my squad of clone commando OCs and how they came to be led by Sol! i really love the clones, and i really love when people make clone OCs. so i found a few of my own :) they've become really important to me. a lot of beloved canon characters tie in or at least appear, because they mean a lot to me too. 
> 
> if you read i hope you enjoy it ^_^

**_Lysatra, somewhere in the wilderness, 25 BBY_ **

Under the bright Lysatra sun, her whole body shook beneath the familiar weight of her armor. All the pain, radiating from strained joints and her very bones for a decade, culminated in the fresh cavern in her chest. The world was a blur, the corpses rendered from her hands scattered around like so many sandfliis. Seared flesh was a stench that had long since stopped cloying in her nose; feeling so hollow after killing them, however, was unfamiliar. 

Her breath came in long rattling gasps. The air around her seemed to vibrate, to stretch out like hungry tendrils seeking… something. The sick in her guts wanted to go with it. But it didn’t matter. 

He was gone. 

“Are you… alright?” came a voice she did not know. It was measured, uncertain. Digging her fingers into the packed, dusty soil where she crouched on her knees, the girl tried to summon an answer. But the void itself had taken up residence in her throat. She blinked tears from her eyes. The man was patient; he took a knee nearby, but not too close.

“I’m Mace Windu,” he said after a moment. “I am a Jedi. But you already know that.” 

Yes, she knew. Of course, the Hutts would not have warned the gaggle of bounty hunters about the true nature of their target. Only the most reckless would bother to bite the chip on such a bounty. His brilliant purple blade had given him away, and the ensuing pandemonium had yielded nine dead men, this _Jetii,_ and her. Faintly, a question swam into her mind. Did her father know? He had been so, so angry--

A pained growl leapt from her throat almost of its own accord, and she pounded a fist into the ground. Finally a tear escaped, falling into the dust. 

“I sense you didn’t have much investment in this job,” Mace continued. “Seeing as you turned on your compatriots.” He did not bother to bring up how she’d tried to kill him, too. 

“They killed my father!” she spat, shaking from her very core. “He’s dead all because every one of them was a _hut’tuun_ and a fool.”

“I’m sorry for your loss,” the Jedi said gravely. He let a silence linger between them again, and it felt like respect. “What was his name?”

“Nom Tannor.” Did it matter if he knew?

“A Mandolorian?” Ah, so he did know the names of the clans. Some of them, at least. 

“No. My father was _dar’manda,_ and I with him. He left his heritage behind when I was five years old. Neither of us is a Mando anymore.” Her head was still down, eyes askance as more tears fled to the ground. It seemed the Jedi was uncertain how to respond, at first. 

“Then what is your name?” he said at length.

Finally, she looked up. Her white hair barely clung to its fastenings, and beneath white brows and lashes a pair of golden eyes set in a deep tan face bore up into his.

“Sol. I’m Sol Tannor.”

“Sol. Do you know how I stopped you, just now?” he asked her gently. 

“ _Jetti_ magic.” 

“The Force. Do you feel its connection between us?” He was looking, serene but stern, right at her. Two breaths later, when she knew what to look for, it was there. The barest thread strung between her and the dark-skinned, robe-clad man. Invisible, unknowable. She frowned.

“Yes,” she replied, uncertain. 

“How old are you, Sol?” 

“Seventeen.” The surprise on Mace’s face was even more confusing. “What does that matter?”

“Usually, a Force-sensitive child is detected by the Jedi long before that age,” he said, stroking his chin with his knuckle. “You do realize that you used the Force just now, during the fight?” 

“That was the first time that’s ever happened,” she told him. It had been strange, but she’d barely had the coherence to analyze it until this moment. The acrid boil of her fury had blinded her from anything but death. Now, it was disorienting.

“Indeed.” Mace’s expression remained furrowed with thought. He eyed the girl-- seventeen was not young to many, yet she seemed too keen, too aware for that age. Already clad piecemeal in armor, already an excellent shot with the two blasters that had clattered to the ground out of her hands. Lean, strong. And she radiated something he was unsure how to describe. An aura of discomfort, like the Force was bunched tight around her. 

Until the moment her father’s body had careened off the cliff and broken on the rocks below. Then, it had all leapt outward with venomous anger. Powerful, she was, but frenzied enough to be messy. So he had subdued her, allowing her body to collapse in grief. Now she sat back on her heels, hands heavy by her sides, looking into nothing. 

“Sol Tannor,” the Jedi said finally. “I want to make you an offer. You may refuse it if you wish. But I would like to take you to the Jedi Temple on Coruscant.”

“Why?” was her quick response. Trust would be hard to find in this one. “To become a Jedi?” 

“You’re far too old to begin the training,” Mace said decidedly. 

“Then why?” 

“Perhaps the Council can find another way to help you.” His face seemed sincere enough. Her father’s dislike of the Jedi was something she’d only barely understood-- Mandalore’s history of antagonism with them even less. But her allegiance hadn’t been to Mandalore for most of her life. Her only remaining connection to it, fractured in its own right, was dead. 

And this thread, this faint link between her and a stranger, was unlike anything she had ever known. 

“I…” She was still shaking, words catching on their exit. “I’ll-- go.”

“Alright,” Mace replied with a nod, rising to his feet. She followed suit, reaching down to retrieve her blasters. “You won’t need those,” he assured her. 

Frowning at him, she picked them up and sheathed them anyway. The Jedi made no protest, only turned to make his way back towards his ship. She followed, each step shooting pain through her body. As each step had since she was seven years old.

What she had agreed to, she didn’t know. But it was more promising than a life out here, alone in the dark. 


	2. slip

**_Kamino, Tipoca City, Clone Military Education Complex, 22BBY_ **

Despite the striking sensory disparity, the memory of the moment everything had changed came back to her as Sol crouched on the composite surface of the airwalk with her hands flat against it, shaking in the cold Kamino rain. 

That yawning pain had been different than this one, but somehow they called back to each other. Maybe it was the armor-- even the much more cohesive suit she wore now still felt like a necessary evil, something to constrict her lungs even as it kept her alive.

Except nothing was shooting at her up here in the relentless storm. Patrol duty was as simple as slapping an alert button on the off-chance anything happened, or that’s what they were told. Really, she suspected it was simply to acclimate the budding soldiers to the more tedious parts of duty. Which she hated, for it left her mind open to wandering. And the hammer of rain on her helmet was as miserable as ever.

“Hey, you alright?” came a grainy voice-- another cadet making his round had spotted her and was crossing the walkway. Beneath the helmet, Sol gritted her teeth. As soon as she spoke, it wouldn’t matter. 

“I’m fine,” she growled. 

“Oh.” His clanking footsteps stopped. “It’s you.” She made no reply, only steeled herself against the unending ache in her body to rise to her feet and collect the blaster rifle she’d dropped. “Try and keep on your feet next time, huh?” said the clone with a sneer, but she was already walking away, carrying on down her designated patrol route. 

The slick surface of the composite that was always covered in rain demanded mindfulness to traverse. But the invitation of the solitude and boredom sometimes won her over, drawing her mind into its dance and reminding her that she was miserable here. The loss of her concentration had opened her to the pain radiating from bruises all over her body-- and to the trip that had slapped her back to the origin of that moment, the fresh sear from her knees and palms reminding her faintly of older wounds. Of course, this had been her master’s idea, just like everything else she’d done since the day he found her. But she had agreed to it. And she could still leave, technically.

Except that spite drove her forward. She would prove everyone here wrong. 

\-----

“Watch out, Slippy, they just mopped over here,” one of the clones said as Sol reached the tray return inside the cafeteria. She didn’t bother to turn and glare at him. It didn’t matter much what she did; the rules forbade her only desired response. So she let the stings land, pushing through them, wondering when she’d finally break and turn to instinctively attempt to crush the source. 

There were six more months to find out.

When she got back to her bunk, the rest of the batch she was training with were all hanging out on their beds. They ignored her as she climbed up the ladder and into the tube she slept in, extended like a drawer out of the durasteel wall. Just as she reached towards the controls to tuck herself away into the comforting darkness and quiet, a large brown hand slapped down over the buttons. 

“Terrain drill’s tomorrow,” growled CT-3990, who everyone called Swift, as his oddly blue eyes landed on her from his bunk not two feet away. “I heard about your little mishap up top. You better not trip over anything.”

“Yeah, we gotta pass,” added CT-6632 from below. Nervousness stretched his voice a little thin. 

“Don’t you go back to your old slippery ways either, Grip,” Swift said to his brother, tone turning almost jovial. And that, she thought, was the difference between them and her, plain as day in the clone’s voice.

“Kriff off. I haven’t slipped off a wall in almost a year!” 

“Yeah and I’m sayin’ don’t start again.” Swift turned his attention back to Sol. “I’m serious. I don’t wanna be held back here ‘cuz of you.”

No part of her face moved, and yet it suddenly radiated anger leashed only by her unwillingness to fall back on old ways. Ways she had trained relentlessly on Coruscant to unlearn, though they crept like loth-wolves at her heels still. She crossed her arms, leaned against the edge of the sleeping tube.

“Is that all?” she asked, voice as steady as she could make it. She thought of Mace, his steady speech which never seemed to falter. Swift narrowed his eyes, and she saw the temptation to carry on flash across his face, and his battle to chase it off. 

“Yes,” he said finally. His hand drew away from her control panel, and she rearranged herself so she could reach out again and hear the hiss of the mechanism that tugged her bed into its cubby. 

There was no use in weeping. Ultimately, they both had the same goal-- not to be here any longer than necessary, by being the best they could possibly be at every exercise. The words of their trainer seemed emblazoned along the walls of her tiny fortress: _ Leave no man behind. _

She turned onto her side, letting the cool fabric of the pillow soothe her cheeks that had grown hot with indignation. It was difficult not to wonder if that axiom applied to her, too. 


	3. unknown

**_Coruscant, Galactic City, Jedi Temple, 25BBY_ **

Most of the journey from her knees in the dirt on Lysarta to the tiny, sparse room inside the Temple was a blur punctuated by moments of confusion, surprise, and fear. Sol recalled long silence inside the ship; she’d been grateful for the room to let her bereavement stretch out and settle in her guts. Even the ship ran quiet, a distant hum unlike her father’s series of antiques on the verge of collapse which always ran barely contained through the veins of hyperspace, groaning and screaming all the way. 

The ecumenopolis of Coruscant, _that_ left an impression. Nom had kept to the Rim, unwilling to stray too close to the Republic’s grip. An entire planet covered in a sprawl of lights and durasteel and permacrete thousands of stories high was so surreal as to knock the girl a little farther from reality than she already was. Questions had sprung up by the dozen, but she asked none of them. Mace guided the ship down to a platform, led her into a building. 

Another stretch of nothing, vast chasms of time lost to the storm of emotions buried under a numb shell. Or it might’ve been only a minute or two, she didn’t know. But the round room full of eyes made her want to shrink. 

“Sol, I would like to introduce you to the Jedi Council,” Mace said, and she had bowed her head. Names came after-- if she remembered any of them, it would be a miracle-- and then questions. It felt like a hundred questions, though it likely wasn’t more than a few. 

“Tired, the girl is,” a small, green creature said when her answers thinned. “Rude it is, to overwhelm her. Make her a place to stay, we will.” Relief had poured over her, followed instantly by fear. Staying here felt… was she supposed to stay here? How long? When would she go back?

When she realized she did not have anywhere to go back to, the numbness returned. 

“There is no hurry to decide what we can do to help. We must learn more about you, Sol, before we can be sure how to be of assistance,” said a man with a brown beard and a kind face. 

“We can give you a room inside the temple with the Padawans,” chimed in an alien with strange metal apparatus covering his face and eyes. Kel Dor, his people were called. But his voice was strangely soothing. “You may stay as long as you like.” 

“ _Vor’e,_ ” Sol said after a moment. “Er-- thank you.”

“I will show you to a room,” Mace said, rising from his seat.

Then, a great many halls, and the place she now sat. He’d told her to get some rest, but her mind was racing as she looked unseeing out the little window into the ceaseless whiz of air traffic. It was still light out, and she felt almost nothing.

Until she felt everything, and lay sobbing on the little bed until the world faded into sleep.

\-----

“We’ve never found a child this old who can use the Force,” Ki-Adi-Mundi pointed out. “Not that I can recall, anyway, in my time here.” 

“Nor mine, and a great deal longer that is, Master Mundi. But found her, we have,” Yoda said. “Wise it was of you, to bring her here, Master Windu. Guidance, she needs.” 

“I fear it might not have been wise at all,” Mace murmured. “I worry for her. I’m sure you felt it-- that strange presence she has?” 

“Yes, though it was faint,” Obi-Wan Kenobi offered. “Like a sort of discomfort, almost?”

“Yes, I felt it too,” Mundi said. A chorus of agreement rippled through the chamber.

“I’m not sure what it is. It’s too faint to be clear. But when she turned on the bounty hunters in her anger, her presence was decidedly different.” Mace’s face was grave. “She is volatile.”

“ _Traumatized,_ ” Obi-Wan said pointedly, “and alone. But if she cannot be trained as a Jedi, who will guide her? And how?” 

The silence that fell over the room was thick with uncertainty. Mace’s mind turned, seeking some revelation within the folds of it.

“We might offer her a position in the temple. A job, something to keep her occupied?” he said at last.

“Mm, perhaps. But what job best suits someone who has been traveling with a bounty hunter, even aiding him in his work, almost her whole life?” Plo Koon rumbled. “What occupation might offer the youngling meaning, in the wake of such loss?” 

“She might not want to seek meaning right now,” Obi-Wan offered. “She may want to let the grief pass, do something very simple.”

“She is still wild, in a way,” Mace said. “Growing up on the run, she’s untrusting and hyper-aware of her surroundings. And Mandalorian ways do not lend themselves to idleness, even when supposedly given up. She has energy that’s better not caged, I think.” 

“Know her better than we, you do. Still not much, that is. Observe her you must. Talk!” Yoda croaked in his high voice, a chuckle in his throat. “A good way to understand someone, is it not, hmm?” Mace’s expression betrayed a little frustration, but it was overtaken quickly by compassion. Aside from his duty, he felt for the girl who had to watch her only remaining parent die by accident, pushed into darkness by a commotion he could not avoid on the narrow cliff’s ledge. He exhaled slowly, leaning upright off of his elbows-- that posture he so often took when pondering. 

“Right now she seems less than interested in talking, but I can be silent, too. Eventually, I believe she will speak up.” 


	4. the valley

**_Kamino, Tipoca City, Clone Military Education Complex, 22BBY_ **

“Grip!” shouted CT-2222 from inside his helmet. “We need a cable!” 

The clones were bunched at the base of a tall cliff that had materialized out of the network of holoemitters that lined the training room. Above them in the observation deck, B’arin Apma was watching from under his Mandalorian helmet with his arms crossed. The Jedi Shaak Ti, a beautiful and serene Togruta, stood beside him; despite her lack of helmet, she was even more inscrutable than her companion. Sol had given up glancing at them an hour ago. She knew her team was fragile as a flower, barely completing each phase of the grueling terrain drill. But not for lack of skill.

Fumbling momentarily, Grip fished his cable gun out of its holster and shot it up towards the lip of the cliff. It landed, and he gave it a strong tug. 

“S’good,” he assured them, and without delay he started to scamper up the wall with the woven durasteel steel rope in his gloved hands. Swift was on his heels, then Twofer. Sol converged with CT-3031 where the gun dangled, jerking oddly with the movements above. She looked through her visor up at the man; he was taller than the others by half a foot, and broader too. 

“You should go first,” he said to her. They must’ve had the same doubts about the cable bearing his weight, she thought.

“But Stone, what if you fall?” 

“If I do, you can’t catch me anyway, little one.” It was almost a jab, but not quite. Because he was right. 

“Shouldn’t you have talked to your _vode_ about that?” she asked, a little incensed that in their haste the others had left the most vulnerable of their group even moreso. They were distracted, and it showed. Stone only shrugged. “Fine,” she muttered, and seized the cable. One foot in front of the other, she thought as she went. One hand over the other. Three helmets watched her from the top, though she heard Swift saying something about the upcoming terrain. She tried not to glance back down at Stone; if the lifeline broke, it would likely give no warning. Watching would not help. 

“Finally,” came Twofer’s voice as Sol hauled herself over the cliff’s edge. Stone was not very far behind her, and when his hand appeared she felt relief. 

“There’s a valley next,” Swift informed them as Grip helped tow his brother up to standing and began gathering his cable. “They’ll be firing at us--”

The sound of a blaster turret firing cut him off, the air above their heads sizzling with the passage of a bolt of plasma. 

“Cover!” called Twofer, pointing to a cluster of boulders near the head of the valley. As they crouched to scuttle behind it, Swift cursed under his breath.

“We should split up, take out the machines from multiple directions,” Sol said, the image of the valley below in her mind. “There’s spotty cover until about halfway down--”

“First one’s too close,” Swift cut her off. “We should take it out from here.”

“But there’s too many rocks in the way--”

“I can cover you,” Twofer said, and she felt his searing glance even from under the helmet. “If you want to draw its fire.” The young woman did not miss the implication that she was to be the bait. 

“Swift needs to cover whoever goes, he’s the best shot,” Grip interjected. “She’s right, the terrain makes it hard to spot from here.” 

“Fine,” Swift said. “Who’s going?” 

“I am.” Stone was already easing towards the side of the rocks, peeking out around it. “I can take a shot better than the rest of you. Once we’ve cleared it, we should split up and make our way to the next ones.” 

“Since when are you on _her_ side?” Swift growled.

“We are all on the same side, _vod,_ ” Stone replied, and his low voice had a solemn edge in it. “Cover me.” And he ducked out into the open, turning his blasters towards his target. 

“Kriff,” Swift hissed under his breath, spinning around to point his rifle over the rock. Stone had dodged two shots already, moving with more speed than his size belied towards a boulder that was just barely too small to offer the larger clone the cover he really needed. But it was nearest, and the turret’s line of fire was catching up too quickly for him to make it anywhere else. 

“ _Haar’chak!_ ” Swift swore. “I can’t get a clear shot!” Twofer growled at him.

“But you said--”

Before the confusion that had been the hallmark of the entire run could grate itself against her dwindling patience, Sol spun away from the cover they were under in the opposite direction of Stone, sending a volley of plasma towards the turret. It spun and took a shot at her, missing by a hair’s breadth. She hurdled towards another boulder as Swift’s shots continued to miss. She was right, of course. The landscape was not in his favor, no matter how good of a shot he was. 

“Hey! What are you doing?” he shouted after her, and suddenly it was a scramble. Grip seemed to realize that the point of splitting up was to draw the turret’s fire in multiple directions, and he ducked out from the boulders to dash towards Stone and take more shots. His larger _vod_ had already begun the descent to another boulder, this one much larger. Twofer and Swift were calling from behind before they finally joined the fray, barely dodging shot after shot. 

It was Sol who took the turret down, and had already begun to move towards the second one when Swift started shouting at her. 

“GET BACK HERE, WE HAVE TO REGROUP AND STRIKE!” 

“WHY?” she hollered back, stopping mid-run. “The same strategy should work all the way down! We’re wasting time!” 

“It might work for this one, but the last two fire together!” 

“If we fan out we can still--”

“I’m not taking orders from you, _aruetii!_ ” His voice grated from behind its layer of comm static. “Now get the hell back here!” 

Sol stared at him for a moment, the word like an arrow in her heart. These men knew nothing about her except that she was here on the Jedi’s orders, and she was meant to lead them one day. But the word that meant _outsider_ in her first tongue also meant _traitor,_ and drew fury from her heart faster than any sardonic nickname ever could. A word that had haunted her father in spite of his adamant renunciation of his heritage. 

Instead of replying, she turned and took off for yet another outcropping of rock, following her own instinct whether they liked it or not. 

\-----

The helmet that covered B’arin Apma’s face did nothing to ease the scald of his voice at the end of the drill. 

“Cronos Squad,” he began, his ire evident but still subdued. “You have failed spectacularly. You did not work as a team once during this exercise. What do you think bickering on the battlefield will cost you?” 

The silence from the cadets who stood at attention in front of him was heavy, anchored in shame. 

“CT-3031, do you know what it will cost?” the Mando asked again, leveling his visor at Stone.

“Lives, sir.” 

“That’s right. Lives. You will be dead, or your brothers will.” He paused as he turned towards the only one of them with no brothers in the room. “Sol Tannor. You led the disarray today. The valley portion of the drill is the most dangerous section, yet you did not coordinate with your squad. And these are to be your men one day. Because of your obstinance, your descent was sloppy. Ammunitions were wasted--”

“But we didn’t sustain one injury, sir!” she protested, the words leaping out of her throat before she could stop them. At last, her tolerance had worn too thin to keep its failing grip on her temper. That word-- _aruetii--_ kept pounding against her head. “And all of the targets were neutralized!” 

“I don’t give a _damn_ if you prevented injury or neutralized the targets this time, cadet!” Apma barked. “If you can’t work cohesively as a team, it’s only a matter of time before you will fail at both. Your first loyalty is to your squad, to your team, to your men. I don’t care if you’re a clone or not. While you’re training under me, this is your responsibility. And _if_ you are granted command,” he added in an acid tone, “then it will continue to be so long after me.”

“Yes, sir,” Sol said in a voice that barely contained the shuddering indignation inside her. Nevermind that these men hated her. The tear that slid down her cheek was mercifully hidden by her helmet-- the first tear she’d shed in years. 

“The rest of you weren’t any better,” Apma said, rounding on the other cadets. “You at no point facilitated cooperation. You forgot your duty, and bickered amongst yourselves instead of working as a team. If you fail the test a second time, I’m recommending you be put on sanitation duty. Dismissed.” 

As they filed out of the training hall, Sol felt her cheeks burn beneath her helmet. She kept her breathing steady and deep, barely hiding the tremor in her hands. She thanked whatever gods were left to this place for the grace of a private shower. Before any member of her squad could level a scalding remark her way, she marched directly there to wither under the hot water. 

When she returned to her bunk, all the men were scowling at her. Even Stone, usually so nonplussed, looked darkly at her before glancing away. Swift’s glare was the sharpest of all, and the silence was worse than any jab. She retreated into the wall as quickly as possible, pushing away the fear that this army was yet another path that would perish beneath her feet; that she had no home anywhere, after all. 


	5. well met

**_Coruscant, Galactic City, Jedi Temple, 25BBY_ **

As it turned out, Mace Windu was not the first Jedi to hold a conversation with Sol Tannor.

Hunger had driven her back to consciousness, stomach demanding her attention. She was still in her armor on the bed, but it was night outside and now the lights that cast their rays through the transparisteel window were wan and artificial. Drawing herself upright as if out of a pit of mud, Sol peered around the room until she found the door and went towards it. Her hand fumbled at the control, but it was clear after a moment which button opened it. The halls outside were gently illuminated with warm light, and she wandered out feeling like a ghost. 

“Whoa, there,” came a voice from behind, and she spun adder-quick towards the source. A young man in Jedi robes, his hair short with a tiny braid hanging over his shoulder, was approaching her. His gait pretended to be calm, but she saw his urgency and confusion. “What are you doing here with those?” His eyes cut down to the blasters at her hip. At no point had Mace asked her to part with them. She frowned. 

“They’re mine,” she said. 

“Yes, but most people aside from Jedi don’t carry weapons inside the temple,” he informed her. “I think you should at least put those away while you’re walking around. What are you doing here, anyway? I’ve never seen you before.”

“I’m looking for food.” Her voice was still a little strained from weeping. “I… slept.” 

“How did you--”

“Mace Windu brought me here,” she cut him off, defensive. 

“Oh.” The young man seemed suddenly to understand. Apparently word had gotten around about her arrival. It felt strange that anybody would talk about her when she was not there. “I guess that’s why you’re wearing armor and carrying blasters.” She made no reply, stood very still. “You said you’re looking for something to eat?” he asked finally. 

“Yes.”

“Well, you’re going the opposite way of the kitchens,” he said with a chuckle. “Follow me, I can show you.” He turned, gestured; she followed, relieved he seemed to have either forgotten or disregarded her weapons. Parting with them was not at all interesting to her. 

“What’s your name?” the boy asked when the silence became more than he could bear, which was not very much later. 

“Sol Tannor,” she replied. 

“Sol. I’m Anakin Skywalker. It’s nice to meet you. I heard about what happened to your father. I’m very sorry. I haven’t seen my mother in a very long time, and my father I never knew.” She heard his tone go a little dark, then. But a pang in her heart appreciated his effort.

“I am sorry for you, too, then” she said quietly. 

“It’s alright. Did Mace tell you what you’d be doing while you’re here?”

“No.” 

“But you can use the Force, can’t you?” Anakin was full of questions, but walking along the halls with him was less unnerving than the round room had been.

“Apparently,” she said. “Didn’t know that was what I was doing.”

“Most of us don’t at first, but it’s okay,” he assured her. “You’re in the best place in the galaxy to learn how to use it properly.” 

For whatever reason, this did make her feel a little better; the coil in her center seemed to loosen a bit. “Mace Windu says I’m too old to become a Jedi.” 

“Well, that doesn't mean they can’t help you control it anyway. What do you want to do if you’re not gonna be a Jedi?” he asked. She blinked, momentarily puzzled.

“I… don’t know.” 

“Oh.” Anakin seemed as puzzled as she was by that. “Well, that’s alright. I’m sure you’ll find your way.” 

They arrived at a larger set of doors which slid open to reveal a busy kitchen, full of steam and noise and scents. “It’s past dinner, but there’s sure to be leftovers,” he told her. “The younglings are likely still in the dining hall, if you want to make friends.” 

Make _friends?_

“Um,” she murmured. 

“Here.” And he was guiding her along, taking a plate for her and filling it generously. He was _cheerful_ in a way she barely believed. Handing her the food, he nodded to another set of doors and led her through them. 

The large chamber held a few long tables, and one was still populated with a handful of younglings. Actual children, she thought. They couldn’t have been more than nine or ten years old. Anakin walked right up to them before she could find it in her throat to protest.

“Cal,” he said, addressing a human boy with short auburn hair and freckles on his cheeks. “Can my friend Sol sit with you to have dinner?” Evidently a short walk and a handful of questions meant she and this Anakin were friends. 

The boy, Cal, turned wide eyes to the older member of his order, then to Sol. The other younglings who had noticed what was going on watched, curious.

“Um, sure,” he said. “You can sit here.” He reached his small arm over the table, tapping it with a finger pointed across from him. 

“See? Perfect,” Anakin said, pleased with himself.

“ _Vor’e_ ,” she told him before taking her seat. “It means thank you.” 

“Of course. Welcome to the Jedi Temple, Sol.” As he turned away, fear leapt into her chest suddenly. 

“Wait!” He stalled at her call, turned back to look at her. “How will I get back to my room?” She hadn’t taken in a single detail of their path here, so far was she from the world with hunger and grief.

“It’s on the hall where I found you?” he asked. She nodded. “Cal, when you’re done, can you show Sol back to the fourth Padawan’s hall where her room is?” 

Again, the boy looked at him almost in wonder. “Yes, Master Skywalker.” 

“Thank you.” Smiling again, he nodded once more to the girl. “I must return to my studies. But I’m sure I’ll see you around.” Then he exited in a flourish of brown cloth, leaving Sol alone with a gaggle of younglings who only looked at her while she began to eat. She realized belatedly that she was shoveling food into her mouth rather crudely and suddenly slowed, self conscious. 

“What language did you say to Master Skywalker just now?” Cal asked, canting his head.

“Mando’a,” Sol said. 

“Is that what the Mandalorians speak?”

“Yes.”

“Are you a Mandalorian?”

“No.”

“But you’re wearing armor,” he pointed out. 

“More than just Mandos wear armor, _ad,_ ” she frowned. “Just as more than _Jetti_ wear robes.” 

“Well, I guess that’s true,” Cal said, unfazed. “Are you a Padawan?” His eyes were bright as they regarded her. 

“No,” she said between bites. The food was vanishing fast. 

“Oh.” Now the child seemed almost disappointed, glancing away from her. Sol ate, quick but less feral this time, and drank water from a glass Anakin had brought with them from the kitchen. The calm that settled over her as she did was a profound relief, though it did not soothe away the sadness or nervousness entirely. And the pain, as always, was there too. 

“I can take your plate,” Cal offered, sliding off the bench seat to his feet. A few of the other younglings had wandered off, apparently too shy to volley their own inquiries at the stranger. Before she could protest, the boy took her empty plate-- not even crumbs left-- and water glass and marched to the kitchen. Standing a little awkwardly to shuffle behind him, Sol was relieved to depart the gaggle of children. The last time she had seen a child of that age she had been looking at herself in the mirror, and that felt lifetimes ago. 

“C’mon,” Cal prodded her with youthful energy, waving her out the door she’d come in by. As he strode ahead, it seemed his interest in her had waned. As in awe of the older boy-- Anakin-- as he’d been, perhaps people who were not going to become Jedi held less glamour for him. He drew finally down a hall she almost recognized, and walked right past her room.

“This is it,” she called, and he spun around. 

“Sorry,” he said sheepishly. 

“It’s alright. _Vor’e,_ Cal.” She nodded at him, which was very like a Mandalorian, and he bowed to her, which was very like a Jedi. Then he turned and scampered off down the hall to whatever end such a youngling could make after dinner in this place. Golden eyes watched him go for a moment, then turned to open the door and slink back into retreat. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i mean if you're gonna have a lil youngling show up it might as well be Cal right??? :3


	6. state of mind

**_Kamino, Tipoca City, Clone Military Education Complex, 22BBY_ **

Lights out was a general rule inside the barracks halls. But due to their immaculate genetic programming, clones rarely couldn't sleep. They could stay awake for long periods, but once it was time to rest the men were out like candles. No guards stood around the corners inside the halls waiting to banish errant soldiers back to their narrow cots, and so nobody was around to reprimand Sol as she crept down the ladder on bare feet to pad through the halls. What she was looking for, she couldn’t have said. But lying in the dark fretting about the second terrain drill was far from restful.

Wandering towards the training rooms at an aimless pace, her feet habitually made no sound at all on the hard, cold floors. There was nothing new to look at, no room more calming than any other. Restlessness scratched behind her eyes, the only remnant of anger that was left to her by then. The rest of her emotions felt far away, dull and meaningless. It was an old thing, she knew. A way to keep the feelings that tore at her heart at bay, in favor of surviving.

When she turned a corner nearby the simulation hall, she nearly ran into someone else.

“ _Osi’kyr!_ ” she half shouted, clapping a hand over her mouth. 

“Hello there. What are you doing about so late?” The voice was gentle; the elegant and tall figure of Shaak Ti loomed over her.

“I-- I’m sorry,” Sol stammered, a little embarrassed. The Togruta’s presence reminded her of the Jedi, calm and noble, an air she’d almost learned to take on herself. But here inside this cage of a place she’d begun to feel more and more like an animal. The contrast felt stark, all of a sudden. She was grateful it was not a Mandalorian; as far as she knew none of the Mando trainers in that facility had heard about her past, and she had intended to keep it that way; yelling surprised Mando’a swears in silent hallways was not a good way to do so. 

“It’s alright, my dear,” Shaak assured her. “I sense you are troubled.” 

“Yes.” 

“Would you like to talk?” The way her head canted down and her eyes remained soft made Sol question the automatic ‘no’ that wanted to rush to her lips. It had been a little over six months since anyone had wanted to listen to her about anything. So instead she nodded, and followed the Jedi down the hall a ways to a door, innocuous as any other. 

“Come in, sit down,” Shaak said, leading the younger woman through the entrance. Sol glanced around, certain she was in the Jedi’s quarters. It was spare, and nothing in particular adorned it. “What has you restless, Sol?”

“You know my name.” It was somewhere between a question and a statement.

“Of course. You are Master Windu’s ward. I would not forget.” Shaak smiled. “You’ve been having trouble adjusting, it seems.”

“They don’t _want_ me here!” Sol blurted out. “I can’t-- my whole team hates me.” 

“You’re not a clone,” the Jedi said with a sage nod. “You’re not like them. That frightens most people.” 

“They’re not afraid. They’re cruel.” Golden eyes hardened as a whisper of anger made its way back into her heart. But something about the Jedi’s presence made her feel the loneliness it covered up right alongside it. “I wish Master Windu had never sent me to this _dar’yaim_.” 

“Yet you have not requested to return to the Temple.”

“No. I can’t fail again. I won’t.” 

Shaak’s eyes fell over Sol with curiosity. “You are determined, I see that. I also see that you’ve worked to protect your team thus far, though they may not realize it. Only that loyalty will prove your trustworthiness to the clones.”

“Sergeant Apma says loyalty and brotherhood are what makes good soldiers,” the young woman replied. “I may be loyal, but they’re not my brothers.”

“Perhaps they don’t think so. But what is preventing you from treating them as such?” 

White eyebrows furrowed as Sol looked up at Shaak. “What do you mean?”

“Compassion for one’s enemy is a very old teaching of the Jedi, yet these men are not even your enemies.” The expression on the Togruta’s face was both subdued and assured. Sol frowned. 

“Always the _Jetti_ double-talk,” she murmured. “If I told them I was loyal to them, they wouldn’t listen. If I pointed out that I protected them during the training, they would still be angry that we failed. I don’t know how else to show them that I care. That losing men needlessly is… is my greatest fear, if I’m to lead.” Her hands shook in her lap, the convalescence of pain and fear wracking her. And the fact that this was not what she'd expected. That the clones she had met before Kamino had seemed trusting enough.

“Some of them will die. Many of them, in fact. The clones know this. But, they are prepared for that. As a leader, you would do well to accept that, while still protecting them as much as you can. It’s a difficult balance.”

“Just being their equal is enough of a difficulty,” Sol sighed. 

“If that is your goal,” Shaak said, reaching out to gently touch her shoulder, “then you will be a better leader than most. Let go of success, young one. It follows on loyalty’s tail.” 

For a moment, they were silent, and the Jedi withdrew her touch as she felt the cadet bristle a little, and the Force around her constrict. Sol looked down at her trembling hands, then back up at Shaak’s white and deep orange face, flanked with majestic montrals in vivid white and blue. The woman was beautiful, she thought, not just in her face but in her presence. Despite her unreadability, it was at least clear that she felt a duty to all those under her care-- including each clone. Though some deeper and older part of her wanted to lean into Apma’s harsh, Mandalorian style, Sol couldn’t help but be grateful for every instance that the Jedi had shown her kindness. 

“ _Vor’e,_ Master Ti,” she said finally. “I will try again tomorrow.”

“You have what the Mando here call _ramikadyc,_ ” Shaak replied. “But you know what that means already, don’t you?” 

Sol blinked, eyes wide at that word. “I don’t think--”

“You have a mind for strategy, and are quick and fearless in combat. But more than that, you are determined, Sol Tannor. If you embrace that determination, believe that you can overcome even this, I am sure you will do so.” In a whisper of brown robes, Shaak rose to her feet. “Now you must try to rest before tomorrow.” Hastily Sol rose to shuffle behind the Jedi towards the exit, turning inside the doorway a final time.

Shaak Ti offered a bow, and Sol nodded in return. 


	7. strike

**_Coruscant, Galactic City, Jedi Temple, 24BBY_ **

Mace Windu felt the threshold of what used to be the limit of his patience pass over him more than once before Sol and he began to speak meaningfully. He’d decided to begin teaching her about the Force-- fundamentals that every Force-user should know, he thought, for her own safety. He did not coach her to _use_ it, no; the council would have been quite unhappy with that. But the more he explained it to her, the more she started to let her guard down. 

“I know you’re not sure why you’re here,” he said to her one day as their studies drew to a close. “I was hoping we might arrive at a path for you to take naturally. But I sense your uncertainty.”

Sol shook her head. “I don’t know what to do,” she admitted, glancing away.

“In light of that, I have a thought.” Now her eyes cut back up to him under their white lashes, and he saw for the hundredth time how no hope was ever without its complement of doubt in her face. “You may find it fulfilling to become one of the Jedi Temple Guard.” 

“What does that mean?” she asked, raising a brow ever so slightly.

“They pledge their lives to protecting the temple,” Mace said. “And they must learn utter non-attachment as part of that.”

“I don’t understand this.” Her frown was frustrated. “Attachment, you _Jetti_ always say. But what does it mean?” 

“It means an unwillingness to let go. A desire to possess someone or something, fearful of the pain of loss.” He thought he’d explained it fairly well, but realized quickly that the look on her face was not confusion. It was something more akin to disbelief.

“That is… possible? To become unattached?”

“Yes. All Jedi practice it, but the Temple Guard practices it to the end of its capacity. They bear no emotional attachment at all, even the kind that could be let go of,” he said. The girl seemed more and more to think, the concept winding its way deeper into her mind by the second. “It’s not easy,” he warned her gently. 

“I would… like to try it.” There was something heartbreaking in her golden eyes when she looked back at him, and at once he was struck with unease. Was this a wise suggestion, after all? After the pain she had so freshly endured, taking root as such a loss always did?

“Master Cin Drallig is the Jedi who trains the Guard,” Mace told her. “You would begin under his tutelage very soon. Tomorrow, even. Are you certain?” 

“Yes.” Now her jaw was set in a way the Jedi had come to recognize; she was decided, and there was little that could dissuade her. His heart was a little heavy as he met her gaze.

“Alright. Tomorrow, you will begin.”

\-----

**_Coruscant, Galactic City, Jedi Temple, 23BBY_ **

It was some months later, high in the temple in the training room that was given only to the Guard, when Sol struck down Cin Drallig with an unseen fist. He flew backward from his seated position, hands on his face as he groaned. A human, an older one, with blood running in a thin trickle down his chin as he hauled himself back up to glare at her.

“You are not even trying!” he barked, clearly flustered. The Master, whose demeanor was infuriatingly calm even as he berated her time and time again, had finally lost his composure. “How can you expect to become detached when you indulge your anger?” 

Sol, on the other hand, was ever on the edge of the deep hollow feeling she had been pushing desperately to fill with her hours of combat drills and the hum of the yellow-bladed lightsaber pike. It came up in moments of meditation to swallow her, never more brutally than it had just then. Drallig’s lecture to her had been grating, one she’d heard dozens of times before-- _you are reckless,_ and _you must let go of your feelings, let them flow and disappear,_ and _your training shows me you’ve never once found a moment of peace._ How was she to find something she’d never known and could not remember? Her argument had bubbled up as it ever did, churning from her guts with sorrow and resentment for the old man’s stern teachings. His rebuttals were stern and unmoved, as they ever were.

And then the very air around her had sprung out, broken the fragile veneer of composure to leap with furious purpose right into his cheek. Her eyes flew open in shock, but the anger never left her face. 

“You are not teaching me how!” she retorted. As Drallig rose to his feet, she followed suit, unwilling to be cowed. 

“I have tried again and again to indulge you, to let you feel things so that they may drain from you,” he growled. “But you are a bottomless well, Sol Tannor, and I do not know where your anger ends!” 

Though she still stood with her legs wide apart and her fists clenched, pain flaring through her knuckles, some part of her registered his words as a knife slid quiet and deftly into her heart.

“Master Windu said--”

“I don’t care what Master Windu said. You are not his pupil, you are mine. And you will listen to me. If you cannot hear, go and clean the wax from your ears.” Even though his voice had fallen back calm, he looked down his nose at her with his frustration on a bridle. “Never in all my years have I had such pupil. Do you _want_ to feel these things, Sol? This anger and fear?”

“No!” she almost shouted. “I don’t! I hate them!”

“Then that is why you fail,” he said solemnly. “You have anger and hurt, and you feel hatred for them. You must let go.” 

The girl looked stunned for a moment, blinking at him. The fury that seethed under her skin and hung like bile in her throat did not ebb, but somehow she knew at that moment that, for the first time, she’d learned a single thing from this man. 

“I…” She’d found words, then lost them again. She still wanted to strike him for dangling _peace_ in front of her, cruel and distant. Or perhaps he wasn’t cruel, and she only hated him for apparently having what she sought. 

“Sit, and try again,” he instructed, taking a seat himself. But his willingness to be small, hoping to bring her drifting down with him into a silence that swallowed her, only stoked her ire. She was unsure if she could contain it any longer. 

“I have to go.” And without fanfare she turned on her heel and marched towards the door. She heard his shout of protest, but it did not matter. In that moment, she was protecting him-- and herself. 

A balcony led around the temple outside the training level, open to the crisp, metallic air and noise of Coruscant. Stalking around the building at a pace, she was nearly fully on the opposite side from her Master’s training hall when she almost walked right into someone else. 

“Easy there,” he said, putting out a hand to catch her shoulder. She looked up to see Anakin Skywalker.

“Sorry,” she murmured, acutely aware of the anger that was still pounding in her heart. 

“Sol! Are you alright?” he asked, dropping his hand. Touch was not something the girl cared for, he’d discovered some time ago, and so he was quick not to make her uncomfortable. But he could feel the radiating heat from her body, the extra bristles in her presence. 

“I’m fine.” 

“You can’t lie to a Jedi,” he countered, crossing his arms. “You’re upset.”

“Yes, I’m upset,” she ceded with a glare. 

“What happened?” 

“I…” Shame boiled sudden and hot in her cheeks. “I hit Master Drallig.”

“You _what_?” His blue eyes doubled in size. “Holy kriff!” 

“If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re impressed,” she said, brow still furrowed. 

“I… kind of am, actually,” he replied with his crooked grin. “Gave the old troll something to remember you by, huh?” 

“It was an accident, Anakin,” she insisted. “I hit him with the Force.”

“Hey, it’s okay! It happens.” 

“Does it?” Her eyes narrowed, not convinced. She’d been shocked she hadn’t been expelled from the building right then; such a thing had never happened to her before, though she might’ve gotten close in the past.

“Yeah, I mean, I accidentally do stuff with the Force all the time,” he said with a shrug. 

“When you’re angry?” 

“Especially then.” 

“Do you… get angry for no reason?” she asked tentatively. “Or out of nowhere?” All she could think of was how she’d been serene that morning, drilling with her bo staff, and then in meditation the sheer cavernous loneliness that lived in her deepest parts seemed all too clear, filling her with sorrow that quickly turned nearly to hate.

“Sometimes, yes,” he replied, glancing away as though he knew the same shame she did. “Didn’t you hear? I’m overly emotional. Or so Master Obi-Wan says, and everybody else, it feels like.” 

“I didn’t know that.” Sol watched him, curiously relieved. 

“Well, now you know.” He gave a humorless, thin smile, then a roll of his eyes that was more genuine. “Everybody has feelings. I don’t see how I’m supposed to just forget about them.” 

“Yes. They are always there,” she said. “They come up just when I think I’ve found... peace.”

“Keep practicing. You’ll figure it out. And when you do, let me know how it works,” he grinned. 

“Mm.” She wasn’t sure at all that she’d ever know, but a smile was lurking under her stern expression. Anakin was always making light of things that felt heavy, the few times they had spoken; this time, it actually helped. “I should return to my master. I left in a hurry.” 

“Well, I hope the rest of your day goes better,” he offered. 

“May yours as well.” She turned, walking back without the loth-wolves at her heels this time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i just like the idea that Sol and Anakin occasionally chat, and see someone they relate to in each other. despite the fact that she's not as powerful as a Jedi, and their lives are wildly different.


	8. once more

**_Kamino, Tipoca City, Clone Military Education Complex, 22BBY_ **

The five cadets stood in the foyer of the training hall, and though they were mostly still, the very air around them seemed to fidget with anticipation. All except for Sol, who was resigned. During the small hours of that morning, in the wake of her few moments with Shaak Ti, she’d decided she would simply follow the lead of her teammates. Whether their strategy seemed foolish or not, she planned to do as they asked. What else could she do, at such a critical moment? They may argue among themselves, but perhaps if Swift was not bristling constantly at her, that might ease off as well. 

The lights adjusted, and the doors slid open to reveal a new landscape unlike the one the terrain drill had begun with the last time. 

“Cronos Squad,” came a familiar, harsh voice over the intercom. Sergeant Apma was behind the transparisteel of the observation deck once again, speaking into the comm hub. “Today’s test will be unlike yesterday’s. You must adapt, and work _together,_ to pass. _Slanar._ ”

Just as Sol’s guts were finally turning, suddenly anxious as she realized that the gentle Jedi who had been so supportive of her the night before was not with her trainer on the deck, the lights changed again and the world was in shadow. They stood on stones that rose high above the floor below; a pathway of them led through a gorge to a short, steep cliff on the other side. Almost instinctively, all of them reached up to turn on their helmets’ nightvision. 

“This way,” called Grip from ahead of her as he began to take short leaps from rock to rock, finding the way that was most traversable. 

“You’ve gotten awfully good at this, since your slippery days,” Twofer teased him from behind. The jab was good-natured, and Grip even laughed. 

“Had to do something to get you guys off my back,” the clone retorted.

“Too bad it obviously didn’t work,” Swift said with a chuckle. They hopped along with relative ease. This was a warmup, at best. At the other side Grip pulled out his cable gun again, but this time it was a brief climb to the top. From there, a plateau of highly suspicious ease stretched away from them. But they shuffled onward, weapons in-hand. 

Needless to say, shots were leveled at them from above in short order. There was nothing resembling cover, so they all made a mad dash for whatever terrain was next, dodging all the while and taking the occasional shot at the turrets above. Sol could feel the blasts coming; that strange sense had been developing over her time here, the tug in her mind that seemed to pull her out of the path of incoming fire. She kept near the others without crowding them, just as they’d been trained, and they all kept a zig-zagging path to confuse the targeting systems. When they reached a thicket of low trees, the blasts stopped. 

“Alright, we know how to get through these. Just focus,” Swift urged as they began to push forward, dodging between tree trunks and keeping a weather eye ahead for dangers. As the trees thinned and the light improved, they became less beholden to cover, moving more quickly. 

Until a blast droid swooped in from above and took a potshot at Stone, who only growled and ducked to avoid the second blast. Almost at the same moment, Sol and Twofer took aim and shot the droid down. The clone shrugged as he realized they’d both hit.

“Always did prefer two shots to one,” he growled, which was his way of telling her she wasn’t on his shit list that day-- yet. 

“Stone, you alright?” said Swift, coming over to inspect his brother’s shoulder. 

“M’okay,” Stone assured him with a groan in his voice. “I can make it the rest of the way unless they get me somewhere worse.” 

“Alright. Let’s keep moving.” Back to scanning and moving carefully. The second two droids never landed a shot; this time, it was Grip and Swift who took them out. Finally the trees dwindled, and they were looking down into a valley once more. This one had much less in the way of cover, and the squad looked between one another for a moment. 

“Guess we just gotta go in,” Grip muttered. “In first formation. See what happens.” 

“ _‘Lek,_ ” Stone agreed. “Just keep an eye open.” Carefully they waded out into the open area, alert. 

It was sudden and terrible when the ground beneath them began to violently shudder, and all along a line parallel to their path a split began to appear, rendering a void between them and their goal.

“Kriff!” yelped Grip, fumbling with his equipment before he yanked out his cable gun again. “I got it!” 

“How are we all gonna swing at once?” Twofer exclaimed in a high voice. Grip was the only one with a lifeline.

“Jump _now!_ ” Sol urged, already starting to move. “Go! Go!” For once, Swift didn’t argue-- the two of them catapulted across the widening chasm, and Twofer was on their heels. He landed hard, and Swift had to grab ahold of his arm and yank him back away from the gap as he struggled for balance.

For a split second, Sol saw the figure of her father as he vanished over the cliff’s edge on Lysarta again. Heart in her throat, she turned to see Grip’s cable flying over to sink into the ground nearby. 

“We’re gonna swing!” Stone called, already gripping the line along with his brother and taking the smaller man by his shoulders. Swift went over to stand on the claw where it had found purchase in the soil, to keep it extra secure. The other two cadets were already jumping. Time almost froze around them; Sol watched as their pendulum seemed to stretch into eternity, willing desperately for the two of them to make it. 

Stone’s feet thudded against the cliff wall followed by Grip’s, and they began to climb in unison. Twofer and Swift were cheering them on, when suddenly one of Stone’s feet slid against the surface of the rock and slipped. Sol almost heard the thrum through the air as the cable snapped taut, but not yet broken. 

“No!” Swift leaned over the cliff and took the cable with his dangling brothers on the other end of it in both of his hands. “Help me!” 

Without another thought, both Twofer and Sol rushed over to join him in heaving the line up; arm over arm, feet on the ground, meter by meter until finally gloved hands reached up to paw at the ledge. 

“Kriffing finally!” Grip laughed as Swift tugged him up and the others reached out to haul Stone behind him. 

“Scared me, _vod,_ ” Swift replied, clapping Grip’s shoulder. 

“What’s next?” Stone asked as he dusted his gloves off against his cuisses. They all turned for the first time to look at what awaited them. The valley continued downward at an easy pace, then sloped back up. Here there was a little more cover. 

“Let’s find out,” Twofer said with an audible grin. 

“Keep to cover,” Swift said, his bucket turning towards Sol. “ _Tayli'bac?_ ” 

“Alright,” Sol replied with a nod. Her tone was so even she was almost proud of it, particularly in the wake of his rude insistence. They moved from spot to spot in a line, which gave away their numbers, but Sol said nothing. 

“Do you hear that?” Grip asked, stopping suddenly between two boulders. 

“What?” Swift turned to face up the direction his brother was. “I don’t hear-- _kriff!_ ” 

It was on top of them almost before they knew it; a huge rock was tumbling down the far valley wall, hurdling at a pace that seemed too quick for something of that size. Just in time, the squad leapt away, two forward and three back the way they’d come. 

“Jango’s bones!” Twofer shouted. “What the hell was that?” 

“Come on, quick!” Swift urged, waving them over. They scuttled like frightened ducklings to join him behind a boulder, Sol ducking yet another surprise-- a shot from some blast droid nearby. 

“Oh, great,” Stone groaned. “Is it just me, or is this much worse than yesterday?”

“It’s worse,” growled Twofer. 

“Listen,” Swift said. “How are we gonna do this? There’s not as much cover as last time, and now there’s falling kriffing rocks!” 

“Did anyone see where that shot came from?” Sol asked, wishing she’d been able to spot it before the tug had warned her it was coming. She was fairly sure she knew, but she wanted the boys in on it. 

“Northeast,” Grip said immediately, pointing. “It’s not far away.”

“Let’s move in two lines down the field. Keep close, but not on top of each other. It’s a longer haul between cover, but we can watch each other’s horizons for both blasts and incoming boulders.” Swift was pointing out the paths he wanted the two lines to take. 

“Fine, but me and Grip go with Stone. He’s the only one injured,” Twofer said. 

“Any objections?” Swift asked, turning towards Sol pointedly. 

“Sounds good to me,” she replied. It did sound good, for once, which kept the bile of resentment out of her throat. The clone had almost sounded like he wanted her to disagree; he seemed a little surprised when she didn’t. But, their entire progression through this drill had been a hundred times smoother than the last one. 

“Alright.” He signaled to the others, and they began their descent. Before he made to lead her on their parallel path, he turned and came very close to Sol’s helmet with his own. “Don’t argue with me on this one.”

“I’m not,” she replied, a little terse. He sure did make it difficult to be brotherly, she thought. 

“Good.” And he departed down towards the next low area of stones, taking a couple of shots on his way. Sol leapt to avoid a couple of blasts, but then that sound came again. Her head snapped around to see another boulder, this one coming right at her and Swift. It was about to careen off the low rubble ahead and flatten them both, or at least knock their heads off.

“Swift!” she shouted, and the words felt distant. The tug came again, and this shot was aimed directly at her teammate. Time again seemed to screech to a halt as she realized with mounting fear that no matter what happened, at least one of them was going to get hit. 

Without another thought, she sprinted directly into Swift’s armored figure and shoved him with all her might away from the path of the blaster bolt. A nanosecond later, a sharp burning pain blossomed in her side and tore through her already frazzled nerves. Both of their bodies fumbled to the ground, and the boulder whizzed overhead harmlessly and down into the valley behind. 

She heard muffled shouting and a barrage of blaster fire before all sound and color collapsed, and everything went dark. 


	9. pivot

**_Coruscant, Galactic City, Jedi Temple, 22BBY_ **

Sol sat inside the meditation room, heart in her throat. Today was the day she would discover if two years of training had been worth the sweat and the tears-- and even the little blood-- it had cost her. Sitting with a stillness she’d acquired through arduous effort, she felt her innards squirm with anticipation. She was improved, was she not? The pike felt at home in her hands these days; no longer did she find herself broiling with anger at her master that she could not contain. 

She didn’t know. These _Jetti,_ they were inscrutable to her. The only one who wasn’t was Skywalker, and they spoke rarely and briefly. He was kind, honest, friendly; maybe the closest to a friend she’d ever had. But his strange magic was beyond hers, she knew. Most Jedi seemed to know the Force better, and use it to much greater effect, than she did. That was why it still felt like magic, even though she could touch it. Magic she had to focus on with profound concentration, or else it would slip through her fingers. 

Suddenly her insecurities had flooded her thoughts, and when Drallig opened the door she contained a jump. He sat across from her, aging face drawn the same way it always was, and let a moment of silence hang in the air between them. Just as she was starting to chafe from it, he spoke. 

“Sol Tannor. You have worked very hard through your training. And you have improved a great deal in many areas, particularly in combat and notably in your use of the Force,” he said. The girl-- really now a young woman, on the cusp of 20-- felt her chest swell with pride. “However, I fear I cannot accept you as part of the Jedi Temple Guard.” 

All the hope drained from her, her shoulders dropping as her brow knit around the shock of rejection. 

“Why, master? Is it because I’m not as strong with the Force as a true Jedi?” she asked, feeling the prick of tears behind her eyes. But by now, she was adept at pushing them away. 

“No, my young student. And I am sorry,” he said, sincere regret in his expression for the first time since she’d met him. “I know you haven’t been lazy or negligent in your studies. You are nothing if not determined, and it has quite clearly borne fruit. But you are still full. You have not been able to attain total detachment. And it will be a long struggle for you, I’m afraid, if you try to do so. There is much inside you that cannot be untangled _for_ you.”

She swallowed the lump in her throat, stunned by his words. Not insulted, nor offended; baffled, wholly, and at a loss. How was she not detached? She loved nothing, possessed nothing but the beige robes on her back and her old armor stowed under her bed which she had often dreamed of getting rid of. She’d tried to peel every last layer of her old life from her skin like the husk it had become, had stripped herself of what was left of her sense of attachment to this world. Yet again, it seemed she had misinterpreted the word. 

“Then… what am I to do?” Her voice was small, lost.

“I don’t know, child,” Drallig said. “It is not for me to say. But I would advise you seek guidance from the council.”

“I--” The threat of a sob stole her voice, and she felt her throat wrap around it tightly. She would not let him see her if she did cry, not after such a long time watching her nearly come apart in her training. He’d seen her at her worst, maybe, and yet she felt no love for him. No connection, no fondness, not even much in the way of respect. She wanted to be free of that room, free of Drallig, free of the temple.

Instead, she took a breath. “I will, Master. Thank you.” And she rose on legs that felt far away even as they throbbed dully with everpresent pain, and walked through the doorway of a training room she would never enter again. 

She did not expect Mace Windu to be standing outside. By his expression, and the way their eyes met, she could tell that he knew. But he did not seem disappointed, or angry.

“Walk with me,” he said gently, nodding as he turned down the hall. Sol drew up beside him, feeling like a shadow of herself. Once again, as only Mace seemed capable of, there was a silence between them for a few minutes that didn’t crowd her empty ears or run like static through her mind. She could almost feel herself draining, empty of her small hopes. 

“Master Windu,” she said, “I’m… lost.” 

“I know, young one. You gave all the effort you had, though, and that is commendable,” he said. “Do you think Master Drallig’s judgement is fair?” He eyed her, watched her face as a thin mask over her thoughts. And she was certainly thinking, and feeling; a series of emotions moved across her face. The final one was shame.

“Yes,” she said finally. 

“So you agree that you haven’t attained total detachment?”

“I do.” Of course she hadn’t. The tumult of sadness and anger was as constant as the pain radiating from her joints. Her ability to hide it did not make it less so, she realized.

But Mace knew that, somehow. 

“I recognize your struggle, Sol. I see it within myself,” he said. Golden eyes flickered over to question. 

“You do?”

“Yes. I’ve always been this way. There are feelings that are dark inside each of us, but mine have called loudly before. They still do.” 

“So you hide them too?” She thought of what Anakin had told her such a long time ago, something she’d never forgotten. That he, too, was full of anger. That he worked to hide it but wasn’t sure he’d ever figure it out. That she was not alone in her endless quest to carry something that only got heavier with time.

“No. I don’t hide them, I use them,” Mace replied, meeting her gaze with purpose. He stopped suddenly; they had arrived at a meditation room. The door slid open, and as he glanced, she slipped inside to take to one of the mats. 

“I think it’s time we talked about training you in another way. Clearly the way of total detachment is not the path you’re meant to follow,” he said, joining her on a nearby mat. 

“Drallig said--” His look cut her off without a sound. “Sorry. _Master_ Drallig said I should go to the council for advice,” she told him. 

“And we will go to the council. But I think you will benefit from this training no matter what path you take in life.” 

“What training is that, Master?” 

“One of my own devising. It will help you use your worst emotions, just as I use mine. You can only hide them for so long, Sol. They will find a way out eventually. Wouldn’t it be better if you could choose how they did?” 

Full of uncertainty, but wildly curious, Sol took a deep breath and straightened her spine where she sat. 

“Okay. I am ready.”


	10. foundations

**_Kamino, Tipoca City, Clone Military Education Complex, 22BBY_ **

While no part of the building boasted any light more gentle than a fluorescent tube, the harsh brilliance of the medical bay was like looking into the corona of a white dwarf. Or so Sol thought, as she slowly blinked herself awake. Moving her arm to cover her eyes, she let out a low growl against the sting in her pupils.

“She’s awake,” came a voice that was either hushed or far away, she couldn’t tell which. Slowly, the constant pain that meant she was alive and awake began to settle into her awareness. There was a strange numbness on her left side. 

“Shh, don’t crowd her,” came another voice, similar and yet different from the first one. 

“I’m not crowding her,” mumbled a reply. 

“What?” she tried to say, feeling the effort to speak clenching around her lungs. “Wh-what happened?” 

“Can you hear us?” came yet another voice, and the realization that she was still on Kamino sank in. All their voices were the same, and yet they were all distinct in some little way.

“ _‘Lek,_ ” she replied, finally looking out from under the shade of her arm. The shadow and light were coalescing finally into four faces-- all the same, all just a little different. 

“We just wanted to make sure you’re okay,” Twofer said, almost uneasy. “We won’t bother you if--”

“Yeah, we just, you know. Worried,” Grip chimed in. “Stomach wounds are pretty serious.”

“Doc says you’re healing fast, though,” Stone said in his low, easy voice. Swift remained silent, and looked at the floor. 

“Um.” Golden eyes looked between them groggily. Sol was entirely lost as to what to say to the four men at her bedside who had never spoken a kind word to her before this moment. Well, Stone almost had, by wildly indirect routes. She wondered if she’d woken up in some otherworld, a parallel timeline where her teammates had been nice to her from the beginning.

That seemed unlikely. 

“Well, listen,” Grip began, “if you’re okay, we’ll just let you rest, then, alright?” He was already standing up from the stool he’d been sitting on, jabbing Twofer with his elbow as he did. His brother coughed and hastily followed him, nodding in agreement. Stone went with them, also throwing her a nod. As they shuffled off, Swift stayed in his seat, turning his face even farther away from her. 

“Are… are you alright?” she asked the clone in a voice that was still struggling to pace itself within her labored breaths. He started, glancing up at her. 

“Am I alright?” he spat. It was like he was angry, almost. “I’m-- I’m kriffing _fine._ Thanks to you.” By the end of his halting words, his expression had melted into shame.

“ _Jate._ ” Good. She nodded faintly. That had been her goal, after all. To protect her teammates. 

“Why… you…” Every sentence Swift tried to start got stuck in his throat like it didn’t fit. “Why’d y’go and do that?”

“It was either both of us under that rock, or just one of us with a blaster bolt,” she replied.

“Yeah, but…” Swift’s voice tapered off, and he rubbed his forehead below its neat military haircut. “I’m sorry, Sol,” he said finally, meeting her gaze with his unusual blue eyes full of remorse. Her breath caught.

It was the first time any clone had called her by her name. 

“It’s okay--”

“Nah, it’s really not,” he nearly laughed. “We… well. I’m not good at this. But I mean it when I say I’m sorry.” His look had fallen soft and searching, awaiting her reply. All she could do was nod, for a moment. 

“ _Vor’e_ ,” she almost whispered. The smile that cracked one side of his face was flooded with relief. Suddenly his eyes cut up and behind her. 

“Sol Tannor,” came a voice that traveled like liquid through her ears. She turned to see one of the astonishingly willowy Kaminoan doctors making her way over to her bed. “It is good to see you are awake.”

“Yeah,” she replied. 

“How are you feeling?” 

“Alright,” was her strangely sincere answer. Some weight had fallen off her chest suddenly.

“That is good to hear. Your scan results were beginning to trouble me.” 

Sol frowned. “Why?”

“Because they are showing elevated nervous system activity well after the phase they should be,” the doctor replied in precisely the same tone she’d said everything else in. “We noticed this during your intake exam six months ago as well, but attributed it to anxiety. Are you feeling anxious now?” 

“No.”

“This leads me to conclude that you are in pain despite the effects of the bacta. Do you feel pain?” 

“Er, yes,” the girl murmured, suddenly disliking the direction this conversation was going. “But it’s not much. I’ll be fine.” 

“Are you certain? I can administer a pain reliever for your comfort,” the doctor said, canting her head atop her long, delicate neck and blinking her enormous eyes. 

“It’s fine, doctor, really. I just need to sleep.” 

“Very well. Visiting hours close in fifteen minutes, cadet,” she reminded Swift without any emotion in her ethereal voice. Then she turned and seemed to float away. 

“Why didn’t you take the painkillers?” Swift asked her with a knit brow. “You’d sleep better with them.” 

“I’m _fine,_ ” Sol insisted a little sharply. “I’m used to it. I’ll sleep either way, I promise.” 

“You’re used to it?” Now he looked really concerned, and she cursed herself for letting that slip. 

“I-- I don’t want to talk about it.” 

“Well, alright, if you say so,” he shrugged, shaking his head a little. “I should probably go before they kick me out.” He rose from his stool, sliding it back beneath the bed where it evidently belonged. “Hope you’re back soon,” he added a little sheepishly. As he turned to leave, she remembered something. 

“ _Pare!_ ” she called after him, “Swift… did we pass?” 

He turned, and a real smile broke out over his face. “Yeah. We passed. We got you out of there all the way up here in record time, I guess,” he told her, raising a brow mischievously. She returned his smile, a wave of relief hitting her like a welcome breeze. 

“Good to know.” 


	11. begun

**_Coruscant, Galactic City, Jedi Temple, 22BBY_ **

Anakin still heard his mother’s weak cries in his nightmares, background music to his swiftly advancing fears about the war that had started under their noses. More death, and more loss. He wasn’t sleeping well, not even with Padme by his side; a risk he was willing to take in light of their recent, clandestine nuptials. But that night he’d been kept late devising strategies and planning the war effort, and was still inside the Jedi Temple in his private quarters when he awoke in a cold sweat. 

Fear was licking at the back of his thoughts like flame, reaching further towards the front. He knew that calming his mind was his best option, so he dressed himself (mostly, at least) and made his way through the maze of hallways to the arboretum. 

Here it was quiet, and full of the air only green things could make. He wasn’t often able to breathe it, with how frequently Jedi changed direction in their travels around the galaxy, so it was still something of a treat. Coruscant carried on its riotous way outside the transparisteel dome, but inside was an oasis of shadowy trees and ferns, night flowers blooming and small insects singing trill ballads. At once, the entire universe seemed smaller, less overwhelming. Being alone was occasionally something he enjoyed, in the right circumstances, and this was an ideal place for it. 

So, when he heard soft footsteps, his hand flew to the saber at his side without drawing it. 

“Oh, hello Anakin,” said a voice he knew by its plush curl of an accent he never had been able to place. Deep tan skin, gold eyes, and a long shock of white hair followed it.

“Sol,” he exhaled, relieved. “I wasn’t expecting anyone else to be here in the middle of the night.” 

“Jumpy, aren’t you?” She was smirking a little-- teasing him. _That_ was a first. 

“Oh, and you’re not?” he asked, grinning. “You, who wore your blasters for the first two months that you lived here?”

“Of course I am, that’s why I see you,” she said with a near chuckle. “But, this place feels more… _yaim._ More like home, now.”

“Well that’s good. I’m glad to hear it.” 

“You seem less at home, though.” 

He glanced away from her. Of course he felt less at home in the temple, with Padme sleeping in the Senate District. But for her to see it, someone he was friendly with but not close to and someone who wasn’t supposed to be that strong with the Force anyway, unnerved him. “I’m just a little stressed.”

“I understand. I hear you’re a knight, now?” She smiled, and he was grateful for the change of subject. 

“Yes, as of today. That’s why I was up late strategizing with Master Obi-Wan. Though, I suppose he’s not technically my master anymore.” Of course he was still _a_ master, and Anakin still thought of Obi-Wan as his master in many ways. But the freedom he had been feeling since the moment he cut off his braid was exhilarating. 

“Congratulations,” Sol offered, her face softening more than it usually did. “You have gained much responsibility.” 

“I’m to be a commander under Obi-Wan until I’m ready to lead my own forces,” he said with a nod. “Have you been inducted into the Guard yet?”

“Ah, no.” Golden eyes found the pebbled path under her feet, seeming a little embarrassed. They hadn’t spoken in some time, after all. “I didn’t pass. I cannot become... detached enough.” 

“I’m sorry, Sol.” He seemed to feel her pain in that moment, a familiar sense of inadequacy he’d only just managed to overcome himself. For the moment, at least.

“It’s alright. Master Windu doesn’t think it was the best path for me anyway.”

“Now what?” 

Her gaze was shifty, as though she was debating her response. “I’m not meant to talk about it,” she said finally in a hushed voice. “But…”

“You secret’s safe with me,” he assured her with almost too charming of a grin. She eyed him for a moment before continuing.

“Well, after Geonosis… I’m being trained for the war as well. Though, I don’t think I’ll make the same rank as a Jedi. Maybe a commander, or something, at most.” For a moment, all he could do was blink, as though trying to keep a fine red Geonosian dust out of his eyes again. But then he was back in the Jedi Temple, and realized what she’d said.

“Does the council not know about that?” Anakin’s furtive glee did not get past his companion’s notice, but he didn’t really want it to. She never seemed to mind that he took issue with certain decisions, despite never openly contesting them herself. 

“Not yet. Master Windu and Master Yoda do.” A smile lingered to betray that she did think he was amusing, at least. “I suppose as long as I do well--”

“Whose idea was this? Yours?” he cut her off rather artlessly. But it was exciting to think that, even in this small way, the Council’s wearisome bureaucracy was being forgone for the sake of something important. And frankly, he wouldn’t mind having Sol on his side in a war, from what he knew already.

“No, it was Master Windu’s.”

“But you want to do it, right?” Now his face fell. How many times had someone else-- the Jedi, and Force knew who else-- decided what this young woman was supposed to do with her life? How many times had she been involved in those choices?

“I mean, it feels like a good fit. Seems like it’d be nicer to have a platoon or something than to have just yourself, which is what I’m used to,” she replied with a shrug. 

“I just mean that if you ever decided you wanted, really _wanted_ to do something with your life… I hope you’d do it, and not just let the Council decide for you.” Anakin looked at her in earnest. Maybe it was his newfound independence, or the aftermath of the first battle in what promised to be a difficult war, but he hated the idea that she’d end up dead on a battlefield when that wasn’t even where she wanted to be. 

“I like to use weapons, actually. I’ve always been good at it. I enjoy the idea of being able to do it for a reason other than to scrape up some money and not starve.” She was trying to be reassuring, he knew, but her voice rang hollow. There was no passion there, he thought, no spark. Which made no sense to him, coming from the only other person in this temple who still had something resembling a temper. Then again, maybe she just wasn’t angry about _this._

“I believe you,” he told her. If this worked out, so much the better for her, and maybe the army too. If it didn’t, it would be just one more strike against the Jedi’s judgement. 

“You don’t have to. It’s happening regardless. But _vor’e,_ anyway,” she replied with another little grin, which did make him feel better. “I’m sure you’ll make a great general. Maybe we’ll even fight side by side, one day. Who can tell.” Watching her with passive curiosity, Anakin wondered.

“Might be fun,” he said, returning her grin. 


	12. clean slate

**_Kamino, Tipoca City, Clone Military Education Complex, 22BBY_ **

Sol waded into the long, narrow paths between the mess hall tables with habitual apprehension. Six months had gone by with her having to choose the seats that were the farthest away from anyone else, and despite the fact that her first day back in training had gone much more smoothly than ever, she hadn’t considered just how fundamentally things had changed. 

So, when Grip called out and waved her over to where Cronos Squad was sitting, she almost suspected a trick. “Sol! Over here!” 

“Uh, hey,” she said, voice quiet as she approached the table. 

“Nice job targeting today. You’re almost as good as me,” Swift joked with a sly grin. 

“Hopefully one of us beats you someday, takes you down a peg,” Twofer commented dryly. Stone was scooting over, making a place for Sol to sit between himself and Grip on the long bench seat. She put her tray down and climbed into the vacant spot, jaw a little tight. 

“ _Vor’e,_ ” she said to Swift. “Today was... good.” 

“Except for the kriffing hand-to-hand. In which case, you kicked all our _shebs,_ ” Grip pointed out. “Which was good for you, I guess. Have you been holding out on us all this time?”

“Well… yes,” Sol replied awkwardly between her first few bites of food. Mostly because she didn’t need the clones being pissed off about losing to her on top of everything else. But the energy had been different, that day, like they’d _wanted_ her to go all-out.

“Hell,” Twofer muttered. “You trained before you got here, right?” 

“Quite a bit.” 

“With the Jedi?”

“Just a little. Before that, my father trained me for most of my life.”

“He must’ve been pretty good,” Swift said. “You took us down with your bandages still on.”

“He was.” Her tone was heavy, but she pulled it back in. “He was a bounty hunter.” 

“Not all bounty hunters are that good with hand-to-hand,” Grip said.

“How would you know?” Sol laughed. “Have you ever met one?”

“Many of the Mandalorians who’re training us here have been bounty hunters,” Stone said. “And our template, Jango Fett, was as well.”

Sol blinked. _Jango Fett_ was the genetic template? For all of these men? His was a name that echoed through her memory, but it did so because he was the object of envy and reluctant admiration from every bounty hunter Sol and her father had ever met. Of course, his actual origin was a mystery-- he’d worn a Mando helmet, but the official word had been that the Mandalorians wanted nothing to do with him. Her father had avoided him, regardless.

“All bounty hunters aren’t good at unarmed combat. But all Mandos are,” she said, swallowing her surprise with a bite of her dinner. All the eyebrows at the table shot up, and the boys all glanced between each other with curiosity.

“You sound pretty sure about that,” Swift said with an obvious lead in his tone. Sol, realizing her misstep, advised herself silently not to speak ever again.

“Mandalorian skill in fighting is legendary,” she pointed out, as though she had no personal knowledge of this herself. It was a weak fallback, and she knew it. 

“Yeah, but you also know an awful lot of Mando’a, too,” he replied, a smirk sneaking over his expression. “How’s that, exactly?”

“How do _you_ all know so much Mando’a?” she countered weakly. Not being bonded with any of these men before now had really screwed up her game of laying low. She felt like an idiot.

“We’ve picked it up from the trainers,” Twofer said. “But it’s sort of in our blood, if you think about it.”

“Are _all_ the trainers here Mandalorians?” She’d almost never seen anybody but the clones, Shaak Ti, Sergeant Apma, and the Kaminoans. But she hadn’t been everywhere among the facilities; hell, she hadn’t even been everywhere in the Military Education Complex. 

“Here in the commando units, they mostly are. Jango picked ‘em himself, and there used to be nearly a hundred of them,” Grip replied. “After Geonosis, many of them retired. But Apma and a few others stayed on to train the likes of us. Last batch of Alphas, and all.” 

That settled that, she thought. Fett was a Mandalorian, or else none of them would have come at his call. 

“They giving you lessons?” she asked, tone dry.

“I know they’re not giving _you_ any,” Swift said, pressing his agenda firmly. “So, you gonna tell us about that?”

Sol looked between the men around her with a dubious expression. They’d only just begun to treat her like she was allowed to be here; it was far too soon for her to trust them. But some part of her, a part that she rarely engaged with, wanted to. The camaraderie between them was more than just that of regular soldiers. It was infused with what she’d always imagined were Mandalorian sensibilities, the same ones that had kept her father troubled even as he cursed them.

But, it was something else, too. They were created, literally _designed_ for war, and bred inside of tanks (she’d seen the growth chambers once, and found them strangely disturbing) and trained from birth to fight. They were clones, and that singular and very strange reality knit them together in a way she knew she would never understand. Something inside her wanted to believe these men could find a place for her among them, but it leaned sharp against the fact that she could never truly be one of them. And assuming they’d not miss her when she was gone had already caused her to reveal too much, anyway.

“I might tell you,” she replied finally. “One day.”

“Awwww,” Twofer booed, Swift and Grip joining him. “C’mon!” But she only shook her head a little and gave a small smile. Swift threw his hands up into the air. 

“Alright. I can wait. I’m patient,” he announced, lowering his hands to cross his arms over his chest and lean back. Grip snorted at that. 

“I’m not,” Twofer said with a snicker. “I’ll keep asking about it.”

“And I’ll keep not telling you,” she replied coolly. 

“Don’t harass her, _vod,_ ” Stone said to his brother. “We may just need to earn it.” 

“That’s fair,” Grip nodded. “We deserve that.” Sol had to admit she appreciated their acknowledgement, however indirect, of their past sins. 

“In that case,” Swift said, raising a brow at her, “can you at least tell us about that _hair?_ ”

Sol frowned, her hand flying unconsciously up to the side of her head where pins held said hair up in a bun behind her head that was trying valiantly to be neat. “What about it?”

“How much of it is there?” Grip asked.

“How do you keep it under your bucket all kriffing day?” Twofer added.

“It’s so white,” Stone said, looking at it almost with awe. He knew better than to ask if it grew in that color; her white brows and eyelashes gave that away. 

“I mean, you’re human, right?” Swift asked. “But you have pretty strange features, for a human.” 

“My mother was half Ferroan,” she said, hand falling back down to her lap. “So I’m still mostly human. She didn’t have their blue skin. The white hair is a dominant genetic trait, but my eyes are a recessive trait.”

“Did she have gold eyes and white hair too?” Stone asked. 

“Yes.” 

“Huh.” Twofer was rubbing his chin thoughtfully, as though he was trying to remember how dominant and recessive genes worked.

“Are you ever gonna cut it? It looks like more trouble than it’s worth,” Swift remarked. Suddenly his face fell. “I don’t mean it looks _bad,_ just--”

“Really can’t fathom sticking it up under a helmet all the time,” Twofer said, shaking his head, “is what he meant.” 

“It’s not that hard,” Sol told them with a chuckle. “I just… wrap it up. Like this. It’s messy at the end of the day, but not unmanageable.”

“I think it’s beautiful,” Stone said with a smile. He was still gazing at her hair, entranced, which was actually rather endearing. 

“Stone wants to grow his out once we get outta here,” Grip informed her. “He’s just jealous.”

“None for me, thanks. You two go right ahead and grow your tresses. I’d like a tattoo, though. I hear once you’re in the GAR you can get whatever you want as long as it’s not… yanno. Vulgar, I guess.” Swift made a face, like he wasn’t sure what that really even meant, rule-wise.

“Or if it’s vulgar, it better be under your armor, ey?” Twofer chimed in, snickering and elbowing his brother. 

After that, the table devolved into playful antagonism, and Sol lost track of everything the clones talked about. She chimed in sometimes, but mostly she just watched them and smiled. It was a strange experience, like being inside her own special transparisteel box while they acted like they always had. Eventually the squad was ushered out of the dining hall, and they lured her into a quick game of grav-ball in the rec rooms until lights-out. She moved through it all while watching herself, there and yet strangely far away. She wondered when she would believe these men who had so suddenly offered her their favor. 

That night as they all climbed into their little sleeping tubes, Swift leaned over towards her while she was getting comfortable. 

“How’re you feeling?” he asked, and she noticed how quiet his voice was below the chatter of their neighbors. He was a persistent one.

“What do you mean?” She feigned ignorance, but kept her voice low as well. 

“You know what I mean,” he said flatly.

“No, I--”

“Sol.” Now he was frowning. “Your pain thing.”

“ _Kuur,_ ” she hissed, and he saw the frustration on her face. “I’m fine, Swift. Don’t worry about it.” 

“Hey, don’t shoot me for being concerned!” 

“That’s not what I’ll shoot you for,” she muttered, arranging her blanket with undue busyness. 

“Then what is?” 

“Telling anyone.”

“Sol--”

“Not a single soul. Nobody.” Her look was fierce, and it was evident that this topic really made her uneasy. Which, she had a bad feeling, would do the opposite of get him off her back. “ _Tayli’bac?_ ”

“Okay, okay, I won’t,” Swift grumbled as he began to lie down. “ _Ori’haat_.” 

“ _Vor’e._ ” She slid onto her back and tugged the blanket up around her chin. The clone just nodded at her, resigned to his vow of silence for the time being. 

“G’night,” he said, letting his voice return to its more usual volume. For what felt like the hundredth time that day, Sol felt a pang of surprise at being treated like someone who was supposed to be there.

“Swift?” she asked, almost hesitantly. 

“Yeah?”

“Do you know what a _cin vhetin_ is?” 

His brow puzzled for a moment. “A… clean slate?” That would be the simplest way to explain a very old Mandalorian idea, she thought. But it worked.

“More or less. Is this… that?” Her eyes, for the first time since she’d arrived on Kamino, were full of doubt and hope in equal measure. “For me?” 

Swift’s expression was subtle. He knew that it was not quite fair that she required a ‘clean slate’ in the first place, and felt a little guilty for having to offer it now, about six months too late. But he looked at her with fresh awareness of her endurance, her skill, and-- more than anything else-- her loyalty. Taking a plasma shot for him had left a profound impression he was unable to take lightly. 

“Yeah, I reckon it is.” 

A whisper of a smile strayed across one corner of her mouth. She nodded at him.

“Goodnight.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i liked the idea of Jango being the template coming as a surprise to her, as she never would've seen his face before even as a bounty hunter's kid. also i think the tie-ins with the Mandos for the clones went deeper in the old EU, so i'm drawing from that here. i figured it would arise complicated for Sol xD gotta love that Plot.


	13. vigilance

**_Coruscant, Galactic City, Grand Army of the Republic Headquarters, 22BBY_ **

Obi-Wan Kenobi was making his way through the barracks, his mind crowded with concerns and plans and possibilities and questions, when he stopped in the middle of the hallway. The 212th was back for R&R last he’d heard, every other clone unit was deployed to the field. So, when he saw a couple of clones he didn’t recognize practicing hand-to-hand in one of the rec rooms, his brow furrowed.

Then, he felt it. Two ripples in the Force, one strong and familiar, the other weak and curious-- he thought he'd felt it before, but it had been a long time ago. His keen blue eyes studied the figures as he moved closer to the window, watching a dance he’d only rarely gotten to observe before. 

When he spotted the white bun and smaller figure, he realized one of them wasn’t a clone at all. They were both in regulation blacks, crouching and circling one another intently. The trooper moved like all his brethren; his body was angular and sturdy, and despite his powerful musculature he was quick. The girl-- Sol, that was her name-- was more wiry, and the sinuous movements of her body never once betrayed the moment she would strike. Clones moved with energy behind every jab, kick, and block. Their high metabolisms meant that the same effort for each motion didn’t tire them, and maximized the potential that each contact would exact as much damage as possible.

The thing that was curious to Obi-Wan was the way the Force flowed around his opponent. White lashes on her golden eyes already rendered her gaze unusual, but honed in on her target it pierced with predatory intensity; a lifelong vigilance hid behind her present focus. Unlike the clone, she had to conserve energy-- and she did it well. Her strikes were precise, engineered to initiate a sequence of attacks if they landed. The Jedi’s eyes narrowed. He knew that style, that very particular strategy that this girl brought her own grace to. 

More than that, though, the Force assisted her every move. Not to the degree a Jedi might use it. Not to push out from her strikes with concentrated effort and send the clone flying to the other side of the mat. But it seemed to carry her somehow, to hold her together. 

Who _was_ this girl Mace had found?

Once Sol had managed to land an attack that ended with her opponent on his back on the mat, groaning, Obi-Wan entered the room. As he’d expected, Master Windu himself was sitting on the bench, observing. 

“Very good,” the other Jedi said, not looking at his visitor, something of a smirk on his face. “Commander Ponds, Sol Tannor, this is General Obi-Wan Kenobi.” 

Ponds, the clone, was on his feet and at attention in half a second. “General,” he said, giving a stiff nod to Obi-Wan. Sol, on the other hand, simply turned to face him, feet still a little wider apart and hands still in loose fists by her side. Her nod was altogether more relaxed. 

“Master Kenobi, to what do we owe the pleasure?” Mace asked, turning to look at him while still seated. 

“Oh, I was merely passing through on my way to the offices when I noticed your lesson, here,” Obi-Wan replied with his usual degree of easy pleasantry. 

“Yes, I was just having Commander Ponds drill my ward in the art of hand-to-hand combat,” Mace replied, that near-smirk flickering over his face again. 

“All due respect, sir, but I believe _she_ was the one drilling _me,_ ” Ponds said, looking almost embarrassed. But he was clearly impressed, too. “Haven’t had a spar like that in a while.”

“Neither me, to be fair,” Sol said to the clone. Her smile seemed uneasy on her face, like it wasn’t used to being there despite being genuine.

“Yes, I noticed you have quite a skillset, Sol,” Obi-Wan said. “Do you mind if I ask where you learned?” 

“My father taught me.” Pain flashed behind her eyes, gone as quickly as it came. He seemed to recall her father being a bounty hunter, before his untimely death brought her here. “Master Drallig also taught me, while I was being considered for the Temple Guard.” 

“Ah. Well I’m sure both your father and Master Drallig would be quite proud of you,” he offered with sincerity. Another uneasy smile, a smaller nod. 

“Master Kenobi,” Mace began, “You lead some of our finest troopers. What would you say are the most important things a leader can practice in the field?” 

Obi-Wan eyed the other Jedi. It looked like he was being roped into augmenting the girl’s lessons for the day. Which might have been slightly annoying, if it didn’t mean that Mace was clearly invested in his ward’s success. He chased down some reasonable thoughts between all the other stirrings in his mind.

“Well, it’s safe to say that keeping a level head is a necessity. One must be quick and adaptable. I always advise several backup plans, which my former padawan is still not particularly fond of,” he said with a slight fond chuckle that everyone else in the room was quick to share. “And, _always_ look after one’s men. Losses are part of war, but negligence is poor leadership.”

“Ponds, would you agree?” Mace asked his commander.

“Yes, sir,” Ponds replied with a nod. “On every point.”

“Anything to add?” 

“It helps to know when to be hard and when to boost morale, sir. That can depend on the squad or troop, though. And being with your men on the line will get you their respect quicker than anything.” 

“Thank you, gentlemen,” Mace told them, and then his gaze fell back onto his ward. “I’m gleaning wisdom for you from everyone I can, Sol, but Lightning Squad is heading back out in two days. I’m afraid that the war is spreading much quicker than we hoped.” 

“I understand, Master,” Sol replied.

“I’ve always said you learn more quickly on the field,” Obi-Wan chimed in. “Perhaps you might accompany your master on his deployment.”

All three of the other faces in the room looked uncomfortable. Ponds the most-- one could fathom why a commando might not prefer a rookie, even a well-trained one, under his wing on a mission. Sol simply seemed worried she wasn’t ready. Mace, though, was a little more opaque.

“I think Sol requires more training,” he said after a moment, looking between her and Obi-Wan. “Particularly regarding working on a team, which is critical for leading soldiers.” 

The bearded Jedi blinked, surprised for a moment. He hadn’t heard about the plan to put the girl on the field in a _command_ position. That would be a rushed effort, for certain. The general level of panic about resources was a static buzz in the very air on Coruscant, these days. 

“I see,” he said, stroking his beard. Perhaps he shouldn’t have been surprised, if joining the Guard hadn’t worked out (and evidently it hadn’t.) Combat certainly fell well within her skillset. “Ponds, I feel your recommendation might be better than mine for this. Clones are unsurpassed in their teamwork, commandos especially.” 

“Thank you, sir,” Ponds nodded. “I still say you might send her to Kamino. It’s the finest military training in the galaxy, after all,” he said with a glance at Mace. But the other Jedi’s frown deepened. 

“I’m still not certain. But I’ve taken your suggestion under advisement, don’t worry.” 

“Yes, sir.” 

“Well, I’m sorry to depart so soon, but I’ve got to speak with Cody. We’ll also be shipping out in two days, or sooner if things on Thule continue the way they have,” Obi-Wan said soberly. He bowed to Mace, and then to Ponds and Sol. “Good luck, all of you. Sol, I look forward to your future.”

She seemed surprised, but every emotion was ever just a passing shadow on her otherwise stoic face. “ _Vor’e--_ thank you, Master,” she said with that nod. Obi-Wan smiled, and saw himself out the door. As he continued along the halls, he couldn’t help but feel a little sadness for the girl. Whatever Mandalorian heritage she had-- and she certainly had some, fighting the way she did-- was obviously stripped away from her. It seemed there was no place for her inside the Jedi Temple. And now, her guide seemed to have no idea what to do with her. He hoped faintly that she might find her home somewhere, and regretted that it might end up being in the battlefield. 

But this was war, and he had no time to fret over things he couldn’t fix-- as though Anakin being knighted and war blossoming like wildfire across the galaxy weren’t enough of that. So he strode onward, and his trouble in mind went with him. 


	14. legacy lost

**_Kamino, Tipoca City, Clone Military Educational Complex, 22BBY_ **

In his usual impassive way, Sergeant B’arin Apma regarded the commandos as they lined up before him, at attention in their new Katarn-class commando armor with helmets under their left arms. It always amused him somewhat that this group had ended up with one clone who was much taller than the others, and the Jedi’s ward, who was visibly shorter than them. It made the team look a little ragtag, perhaps, but he didn’t mind. Training such a unique squad was one for his resume, assuming he ever needed a resume again. 

Sol Tannor was certainly a unique cadet, and he suspected that was more true than she let on. 

“Cronos Squad,” he said, “you’ve done remarkably well today. In fact, you’ve improved significantly in the past five months. While you all came into your final year of training with powerful skillsets, you lacked the teamwork you needed to become true commandos.” He eyed them from under his visor. He made them remove their helmets during these little assessments, because watching their faces was ever helpful in spotting problems before they arose. “But it appears you’ve taken my lesson of brotherhood to heart. I urge you to continue to do so, for that will serve you on the battlefield in ways no fighting skill can. You will be called upon to do impossible things, because you are the last of the Alpha-class ARC troopers. Your predecessors already have done them.”

Their faces were gazing dead ahead, but he could see the barest flush of pride in their cheeks. Perhaps the ordinary clones would have been dissuaded from developing such an emotion, but Mandalorians took pride in their skill, and their heritage. He knew that was what made them formidable. So, he gave the commandos a heritage of their own. 

“ _Kandosii,_ troopers. Dismissed.” Their shoulders all fell lax, and they turned almost as one towards the exit to the training hall. “Tannor,” Apma added quickly, stopping the young woman in her tracks. Curiously, the clones stopped with her. “Remain here for a moment.” 

They all looked at each other, but Tannor nodded to her teammates and turned back towards the Sergeant. The others shuffled out, the door sliding shut behind them. 

“Sir,” she said as she approached, standing at attention once more. He noticed that she looked him in the eye, or did her best to with his helmet obscuring them. Clones were trained not to do so, even commandos, at least not to their training sergeants. 

“You were brought here by the Jedi, correct?” Apma asked. Confusion flickered over her face, but she remained composed. 

“Yes, sir.” 

“And they trained you as well?” 

“Yes sir.” 

“How long were you with them on Coruscant?” 

“Two years, sir.”

“Did they train you for battle?”

“No, sir. They trained me to become a member of the Temple Guard.” She couldn’t see him raise an eyebrow under his helmet. 

“Oh? And you rejected that assignment?”

“No, sir. I was not offered it at the end of my training.” 

Now _that_ was curious. “Why?”

“I don’t think I was well-suited to the job, sir. I’ve utilized my training much better here.” 

“And did they teach you their _Jetii_ magic?” he asked, and watched her golden eyes narrow slightly. 

“I am not adept with that skillset, sir,” she replied rather crisply.

“You didn’t answer my question.” 

She was beginning to bristle, but it was not a cowardly withdrawal. “They taught me to manage the few abilities I have regarding the Force.” 

The lack of ‘sir’ may have been intentional, or it may not have. Either way, he was too delighted to feign offense as an officer usually would. “A Force-sensitive Mandalorian, training with a batch of clone commandos. Will wonders never cease?”

“Excuse me?” Now she was frowning, and her posture had fallen far from its obligatory stance. The subtle forward jut of her torso and slightly wider plant of her feet were hallmarks of a predatory nature, one that was taught to fight from birth. 

“Let’s not lie to one another, _verd’ika,_ ” Apma said coolly. “I’ve suspected your lineage for some time. How did the _Jetii_ get ahold of a Mandalorian child?”

“I’m not a Mandalorian,” she said, and there was a sharpened end to her words accompanied by a fierce scowl. 

“Now, don’t--”

“Moreover, none of my past is relevant to my training here,” she added, cutting him off. 

“Only a Mando would show his teeth to his pack leader,” the sergeant said. “You have all the tells of a warrior. And don’t think I’ve missed your knowledge of Mando’a, either.”

“Why are you so concerned about me?”

“Because, Tannor,” he began, “You aren’t a clone. You aren’t a copy of a Mandalorian, watered down and bred out of its true ferocity. Even these commandos, who were bred without dulling their independence, are still crafted to be less powerful than their template. I’d almost forgotten what it was like to be with my fellow warriors, to watch them in combat. The clones follow you because you are their natural leader. They have finally accepted this.” He paused, watched her face just barely shift uneasily. “Which begs the question of why you are here at all. Have the _Jetii_ subdued you, tricked you into swearing loyalty to their cause?” 

“I haven’t been tricked into anything,” she nearly snarled.

“Then you chose to come here? To be treated as lesser than you are? To serve the Republic without question?” For the first time since their conversation had begun, she hesitated. But then her eyes narrowed, golden gaze going razor-sharp. 

“You’re here training these soldiers, Sergeant Apma,” she said, her voice steadying. “Are you not loyal to the Republic? Because it sounds like you’re asking me to question my own loyalty.” 

“I serve the Republic because they pay me,” he replied. “I serve the true Mandalore because that is the way of my people. I am simply asking if you do the same.” 

Her expression fell to one of hardness and something akin to disappointment. “I am _dar’manda,_ like my father before me. After Clan Vizla murdered my mother and assumed control of the _Kyr’tsad,_ he renounced his heritage, destroyed his armor, and left Mandalorian space. I was five years old. So no,” she said in a venomous tone, “I do not serve the _true_ Mandalore. Nor the false one, whatever that is. I serve the Republic, and I serve these men.”

In the wake of such an unexpected truth, Apma found himself momentarily speechless. It had been countless years, as far as he knew, since any of his people had disavowed the entirety of their culture. Sure, there were factions among the Mando. He knew of the _Kyr’tsad,_ the Death Watch, and some of his fellow Protectorate had joined their ranks years ago. But he was long divested in the squabbles between the systems of the Mandalorian sector. By passing on the teachings of his people via these troopers, he was doing far better work than picking fights with his neighbors. He, like Jango Fett and so many others who answered his call, was going rogue to honor the truth of his heritage.

This girl, this _child,_ was spitting on everything sacred to him with her words. He should have been furious. But he wasn’t, not yet at least.

“I see,” he murmured, letting her story sink in. She only stood before him, every muscle tense as though she might jump at him at any moment. 

“Are there any more inappropriately personal questions you intend to ask me, sir?” she said after a few moments. It seemed that a certain amount of anger was at her quick disposal, he thought. It was still in her voice, underlining precisely what she thought he needed to know. 

“No,” he said. “No, I believe that will be all. You’re dismissed, cadet.” Almost instantly, she spun on her heel and marched out of the training hall through the sliding doors. B’arin Apma only stood quietly, turning over each thought in his mind. 

Perhaps she deserved to be among lesser beings. But it also occurred to him that she might simply need to be pushed to her limit, in order to realize her true potential. 


	15. source

**_Coruscant, Galactic City, Jedi Temple, 22BBY_ **

Mace Windu wasn’t surprised to see his student had arrived at the meditation room before him. He’d been deployed on Thule for a battle that wearied his bones, which he had thought at first might turn the tide of the war. But Master Yoda’s serious doubt about that was on his mind, and the gnawing worry nestled in the back of his mind had him wondering just how long he could dither in his decision about when Sol would be ready.

Only two weeks into her training, she had finally begun to find her own pathways into the Force. It rarely opened naturally to her; she had to push herself past the cloak of darkness to find the points of light that could guide her to awareness. If he had asked her, she would’ve said it felt like pushing herself off a cliff every time. But it seemed that she’d begun to trust the fall. And that day, he sensed something had shifted. 

“Good morning, Sol,” Mace said in his even, calming way. He took his seat facing her on a pillow, and her golden eyes found him through the haze of her thoughts. 

“Master Windu,” she said with a nod. 

“Has your meditation led you anywhere today?”

“I…” her voice faded, lost in trying to choose its words as it so often was. “I’m not sure.”

She should’ve known he wouldn’t let her off that easily. “Of what are you uncertain?” 

“It’s difficult for me to say, Master,” she admitted, looking down at her lap. Her thumbs pressed together a little too hard as he watched, as if trying to push away some emotion, or push through it.

“Why?” Mace asked. 

Sol took in a long, slow breath before answering. “As a child I learned many things that have been contradicted in my time here. By your teachings, especially. I’m not very good at accepting my feelings.” If there was a gleam in her master’s eye, she missed it.

“That’s alright. Many of us struggle with that. Can you tell me what makes it difficult for you?” 

“My father--” she swallowed hard against the memories the words dredged up-- “was adamant that weaknesses remain hidden, so our enemies couldn’t exploit them.”

“And you thought your emotions were a weakness?” 

“Many things were a weakness,” she said, and there was a weight to it that Mace noticed. She was looking at him again, and something in her face told him she wished he could know without her having to speak it aloud.

But leaving things unsaid was a bad habit of the Jedi, he thought. And here, with her at least, he felt no obligation to carry on that tradition.

“The only emotion that has granted you access to the Force so far has been anger, young one. Is there something else, emotion or not, that does it?” 

“I have… a condition.” The strain in her throat was audible. “I don’t know what it is. But I’ve had it since I was a little girl. And I’ve hidden it for almost as long.” 

He did not say anything. His silence was her invitation to breach the last of her own defenses, and she fought it for a long moment.

“I hurt,” she said finally, voice subdued. “My body hurts. All the time. It never stops. My bones, they don’t quite stay in place. Sometimes I have to push them back where they belong.” 

Of all the things he expected or imagined he would hear, this was not one of them. Suddenly the strange tightening of the Force around her made sense. He blinked, eyebrows raising slightly. 

“Have you told anyone of this?” he asked.

“No.” The finality of the word made it clear; she had truly told no one. Ever. Before this moment, she had carried her burden alone. He pitied her, but that was far from helpful and he knew it would be the last thing she would want.

“And this helps you access the Force?”

“I wasn’t sure until recently. But yes. I think it-- the Force-- is what I’ve drawn on to move, and walk, and fight,” she explained. “To… continue, through the pain.” 

“I see,” Mace said, stroking his chin thoughtfully. There were many paths to the Force, he knew, but how often did he see one like this? Not a natural affinity, but a summoning of its power out of nothing but need and strength of will. While he thought it surely augmented her physical skills to some extent, they never reached the prowess of a Jedi. “Does the pain subside when you draw on it?” 

“No.” Another heavy reply. “It only allows me to pretend it’s not there by helping me to move, and focus elsewhere.” 

“That explains your skill in combat-- why you’re so calm during your drills. Maybe the army is a better choice than I realized,” he said. “It’s a demanding job, physically and mentally. But do you fear it might overwhelm you, to take on that much physical danger? The chance of grievous injury is great.” He had no notion how much a constant pain might worsen a sudden, acute pain. 

“No,” she said a third time, and this time it was harder-edged. “I’m not afraid.”

“So be it, then,” he replied with a nod. “We’ll continue your training. But I fear there’s only so much I can prepare you for here, in the confines of this temple.” 

The look on her face carried its undercurrent of fear, but there was anticipation as well, all under the steely curtain of stoic acceptance that veiled her expression unless she was in combat. The Force betrayed her emotions, but they still seemed muted from without. Within, he knew, was something else entirely. As it often was for him, too.

“Do you think you’re ready to go to Kamino, young one?” he asked her softly. “I may redeploy tomorrow, but will be back soon after if all goes well. You would need to depart then.”

“Yes, Master.” There was no hesitation in her reply. 

He nodded, knowing full well that this might make or break her.


	16. what's given

**_Kamino, Tipoca City, Clone Military Education Complex, 22BBY_ **

Usually, during the blink of rec time between dinner and lights-out, Cronos Squad could be found playing grav-ball, sparring (the boys were determined to best Sol at hand-to-hand, though since she’d stopped going easy on them not one of them had managed it), arm wrestling, or fitting in some extra target practice. The things that most of the clones did.

But once in a while they’d all end up at their bunks, listening to Sol talk about the rest of the galaxy. Having been here in the diffused, sterile white light of the Kaminoan facilities their entire lives, with no knowledge about the outside world other than what they’d learned in their early education classes and holovids, storytime with Sol even drew the occasional crowd. 

“What’s your favorite planet you’ve ever been to?” asked a clone who’d crowded onto Grip’s bed with him to listen, who everyone was calling Angel. 

“Hm,” Sol murmured, rubbing her bottom lip pensively with her knuckle. Truth be told, she was a little spaced out-- she was sitting down on Stone’s bunk, letting him practice braiding her long, white hair. Every time he gathered a little more hair from each side of her head to weave into it, a calming sensation came over her. It was nearly the only time she could recall enjoying being touched by anyone. The big clone was gentle, and took his time as he listened. 

“Was it Coruscant?” asked another clone from a little above, in the bunks next to the ones Cronos Squad occupied. 

“No,” she said decidedly. “Absolutely not.”

“What! But there’s so much to do!” 

“That’s why I hate it. There’s a lot of noise, and a lot of lights, and it never stops. It’s maddening.” 

“Sounds like my kinda place,” another clone chuckled. 

“What about Hosnian Prime?” The questions were being volleyed from all over now, by clones she’d never even met.

“I spent most of my time in the Outer Rim,” she disclaimed with a wave of her hand. “Sometimes the Mid Rim. Not much in the Core.”

“Why not?” asked Twofer.

“Didn’t have the money,” she said with a grin. 

“Are the Outer Rim planets really as run-down as everybody says?” asked Angel. 

“Some of them are, but not all of them.”

“What about wild space?”

“It’s barely settled at all, though there’s still trade that comes in and out.” 

“You never answered the question, little’un,” Stone reminded her. Sol had stopped rolling her eyes at that nickname about two months ago. He was, after all, larger than his _vode_ and therefore a lot larger than her. 

“Well, it’s hard to say. I’m fond of nice landscapes, with not that many people. Like Kaller, or Takodana. But sometimes a place that’s not green is nice too, like the desert on Cantonica.” 

“Or Tattooine,” suggested another clone. 

“Mm.” The mention of that particular planet seemed to draw her lips thin. “So, it’s hard to say. I have the most fond memories of Takodana, though.”

“What’s it like?” Grip asked, bouncing a little on his bed. 

“It’s beautiful,” Sol said, closing her eyes as memories ran through her mind on a slow reel, awash with the same wonder she’d always felt as a child when looking out the viewport on their way to the surface. “It’s covered in lush green, and little pale blue lakes that settle between the forested hills like the planet’s a million hands held together, letting the rain collect in its palms. The air’s always a little hazy, with wisps of low clouds vanishing behind every corner as you come into low atmo. It _smells_ green, and rich, like anything would grow if you just threw it on the ground.”

“Wow,” murmured a clone who was sitting on the floor, eyes wide. 

“Are there any people there?” asked a clone she’d heard called Niko before. 

“Only a few,” she said, unable to keep a sly grin off her face. “They tend to be travellers, wanderers, smugglers. Pirates. _Chaavla_ types. Just passing through or laying low awhile. It’s something of a safe haven.”

“How’s it safe if there’s dangerous people there?” Swift asked, frowning.

“There’s a no-fighting rule. Anyone can go there, as long as they keep their hands to themselves. It’s really the only settlement on the planet, and the _ahlor,_ the boss, says no fighting. By anyone. Ever. Or she has the ancient assassin droid kick you out.” This caused a murmur among the listeners. 

“Ancient assassin droid, huh?” murmured Twofer. 

“They say the castle there once belonged to the Jedi, and there are tombs more than five thousand years old in the catacombs below it,” Sol added, remembering her childhood fascinations. “But it was a derelict when the boss took it over. That was nearly nine hundred years ago.”

“Wait-- the same boss?” asked Angel, eyebrows shooting up. “Are they immortal?” 

“She always said she wasn’t, but I’m not convinced,” Sol replied. Another murmur, and she had really begun to enjoy the excitement and curiosity and doubt of her enraptured audience. 

“Tragic there’s a no-fightin’ rule. Means we probably won’t ever get to go there,” Grip said, his smirk wry. 

“Yeah, that’s too bad,” Swift added. “I wanna meet the assassin droid.” 

“You would,” Twofer laughed. 

“Cadets!” came a sharp voice-- another clone in captain’s armor was coming down the hall. All the clones who weren’t in their own bunks jumped up from the floor or down from the beds they were hanging out on, and stood at attention nervously. “Lights out! Back where you belong!” 

They scattered, murmuring ‘yessir’s as they went. The remaining clones hovered, not sure if they should be standing at attention or just staying where they were. 

“Cadet Tannor, you’re wanted in the Primary Medical Facilities,” the captain said from under his helmet as it bent down to look at Sol. 

“Oh,” she muttered, surprised. “Yes, sir. I’ll… uh… figure out how to get there.”

“Do you need an escort?” The captain sounded annoyed.

“I can take her, sir,” Swift offered, stepping out onto the ladder that led down from his bunk.

“Thank you, cadet,” said the buckethead with audible relief. “The rest of you, lights out. And you two, no wandering on your way back.” 

“Yes, sir,” Sol and Swift said almost in unison. When the armored man began walking away, Sol shuffled over to where her shoes were tucked away at the bottom of the bunk unit. 

“I could’ve figured it out, you know,” she said flatly to Swift, who was also pulling on his uniform shoes. 

“Yeah, but now you don’t have to,” he said, trying on a charming smile. While he did have a certain charm, at that moment it didn’t work even a little on Sol. She frowned, and strode out to the open passage between the bunk units. 

“G’night, boys,” she said to Twofer, Grip, and Stone. Then, she reached up and touched her head, recalling the braid there. Tugging it over her shoulder, she stared down at it in surprise. “How’d you _do_ that?” 

“It’s easy once you get the hang of it,” Stone replied with a shrug. 

“Will you teach me one day?” 

“Sure.”

Sol smiled, and turned back to exit. Swift fell in beside her at his eternally antsy pace. 

“So what’s all this about, d’ya think?” he asked with entirely too much innocence.

“I’m going to have to shoot you one day, aren’t I?” 

“Sol! You’re _so_ mean to me for no reason!” he whined, exaggerating his dismay. Her eyes cut around to the bunks they were still making their way through, at the cadets who were still settling in before sliding into darkness and sleep. 

“ _Copaani mirshmure'cye,_ Swift?” she growled in a low voice at him. “Because I’ll do it. Shut up at least till we’re outta range, please.”

“Fair,” he murmured with a nod. Then he fell into an obliging silence, leading her out of the barracks and around a hallway she’d never seen to a set of transparisteel doors, then down another hall to a lift. 

“But really,” he said as the lift door closed and they started to ascend. “Is something going on?” 

“I have no idea, actually,” she replied, her jaw tense.

“Really?” He raised a brow at her. 

“Yes, really.” She threw him a look he’d started to get to know pretty well, a stern brow and a sharp glance that meant she was deadly serious. “I can't imagine what they’re summoning me for. I’m not feeling… different. I haven’t reported anything. Unless someone is reporting behind my back, but that would make you _auretti,_ wouldn’t it?” 

“You know I would never betray you, Sol.”

To be fair, she didn’t suspect him, not really. She was just hoping he might stop being so persistent in worrying about her, ever. But this was starting to look like a long-term responsibility he’d taken upon himself. 

“Yeah,” she sighed. “So, your guess is as good as mine.”

They went through another maze of hallways until the light became conspicuously brighter, more abrasive. Which usually meant a medical center, inside the CMEC. Swift stopped as he came abreast of a set of doors, and before he could turn around and say anything to her, the doors swirled open to reveal a tall Kaminoan woman she’d never seen before. 

“Sol Tannor,” the alien said in her high, airy voice. “And who’s this?”

“CT-3990, ma’am,” Swift responded. “I was just escorting--”

“Thank you, cadet. You may wait outside.” The fact that Kaminoans all spoke in the same mellow, low-variation lilt all the time didn’t make her statement any less final. 

“Uh, yes ma’am,” Swift said, surprised but dutiful. Sol nodded to him, then walked through the doorway. When it closed, the alien held out her hands.

“I am Nala Se,” she said. “I am the Chief Medical Scientist here. It is nice to meet you at last, Sol Tannor.” 

“At last, ma’am?” 

“We have been studying your genome for some time. You may be happy to hear that we’ve discovered the cause for the pain you are experiencing.”

Sol tensed, instantly uncomfortable. “I… didn’t know you were looking.”

“It’s been a side project of ours since your injury a few months ago,” Se explained. “We suspected a genetic cause. As you know, we Kaminoans take a great interest in such things.”

“I see.” 

The impossibly elongated figure of Se turned and pressed a panel on the nearby wall to bring up a display that showed a holomap of what Sol assumed was a strand of her own DNA. 

“It appears that the gene responsible for the production of your proteins is malfunctioning,” Se said, zooming in on some part of the map. All of it made little sense to Sol, who regarded the medical diagram with something just shy of suspicion-- but not void of curiosity. “But it is only a partial malfunction. There are a great many proteins created in the human body. The most abundant is collagen. Your collagen production is at much less than half its ideal output. This causes your tendons to be weak, or missing entirely. Until we do a full body scan, we cannot be sure of how many of yours remain intact.” She turned massive, blinking eyes back to Sol. “It is surprising, to us at least, that your bones remain in place.”

“Sometimes… they don’t,” Sol replied softly. “I reset them.”

“Is it not painful?”

“It is. But I’m used to it.” 

“So, this condition has manifested for some time?” 

“Most of my life.” Sol could feel her jaw tightening again. “Is this the only reason I’ve been summoned, ma’am?” 

“It is not,” Se replied, not betraying any annoyance if she felt it. “While I’m afraid we were unable to develop a means by which to correct this genetic defect, we have engineered something else which may be beneficial to you.” 

“Really?” Now she was really curious, one white eyebrow raised.

“It is a chip, which we would insert here,” Se continued, changing the display to a holo of a human figure. It went transparent, revealing bones and nerves, and zoomed in so that one long, spindly finger could tap at the very base of the skull. “This is the top of your spinal column. We cannot alter the electrocurrents in your brain safely, not without causing a cascade of possible effects that would be undesirable at best. So instead we developed a way to simply downregulate your nervous system, to dull or even alleviate the pain.” 

“All pain?” Sol asked, frowning.

“No, you would still feel acute pain. That is important for any soldier, to know they are wounded. However the chronic pain you feel would be reduced considerably.” 

For a moment, Sol was silent. She looked at the holo, strangely uncertain. Some part of her knew she should jump at the chance to have such a thing, to finally, _finally_ get relief. But another part of her feared that strange new world-- not for any reason she could summon. Just a nebulous feeling that a world without her pain would be difficult to adjust to, or that she would become changed somehow because of it.

“How long would I be in recovery?” she asked finally.

“It is an outpatient procedure. You would be fit to return to training after your appointment.” 

Just that quick, everything she knew would shift. Sol chewed the inside of her lip, glancing around at the white room full of white equipment, at the door, at the holo, outside the transparisteel window to the barren hallway where Swift was waiting. 

“Are you interested in this procedure?” Se asked, after granting her a moment to ponder. Sol took a deep breath.

“I… think so. Are there any side effects?”

“None that we have been able to foresee. We did investigate that possibility as thoroughly as our knowledge allowed, so we are optimistic about the unlikeliness.”

“Can it be removed if there are any unexpected ones?”

“Of course.”

“When would I get it?” 

“It could be done as soon as tomorrow.” 

Sol took one last lingering look at the holo, the image of the spine and the blinking red light that showed where such a minute wonder would live inside her for the rest of her life, if she chose. If it worked.

“Alright. I’ll do it.” 

“Excellent,” Se replied, with something vaguely akin to happiness in her voice. “You may retire then, and report back here for the procedure at 0600.”

Something felt hollow in Sol’s guts, a strange empty apprehension that was paralyzed with hope and fear at once. But she nodded at the tall alien. “ _Vor’e--_ I mean, thank you, ma’am.” 

“You are most welcome,” Se replied, gesturing with one long, thin hand to the door. “Sleep well, Cadet Tannor.” 

When she walked back out into the hall, Swift was waiting with a very expectant look. But he said nothing at first, only examined her face as she fell in beside him to go back the way they’d come.

“Soooo,” he said finally in a quiet voice, “you okay?” 

“I’m fine,” Sol replied, but her tone was opaque. 

“You wanna talk about it?” he asked, raising an eyebrow at her.

“Give me just a minute, please.” Her eyes were far away.

“Alright,” he acquiesced, knowing the difference between a bristly, annoyed Sol and a troubled Sol even though he’d almost never seen the latter. She’d become much more expressive in the last few months, but this was a first. He led her through the halls in quiet solidarity, not once pressing the issue. It wasn’t until they were settling into their open bunks, feeling like the only two people awake in the entire building, that she finally spoke. 

“They found a way to take the pain away,” she almost whispered, eyes on her hands but looking past them. 

“Really? How?” he asked, eyes widening.

“A chip in my spine.” She sank down into her bed, staring up at nothing from on her back.

“Shouldn’t that be exciting?” 

“Yeah. It should.” 

“Well,” he started, “surgery is a little scary sometimes, even when it’s a good thing.”

“It’s not the surgery I’m afraid of. It’s what comes after.” 

“You’re afraid of _not_ hurting all the time?” Now he was openly quizzical.

“It’s just been this way my whole life, Swift. I… can’t imagine anything else.” At last her eyes flitted over to his, the weight in them stirred with possibility and apprehension. 

“Believe me when I say it’s better, then, huh?” he assured her gently. “I’m happy for you.” 

“ _Vor’e,_ ” she murmured. “I guess I’ll find out tomorrow.” 

“Tomorrow?” 

“It’s a quick thing. I’ll be done in time for morning mat training.” 

“Oh.” He blinked, impressed, then looked back at her. “Sounds good.” But her eyes were still troubled. “Hey, it’ll be okay,” he added after a moment. “Get some sleep. You’ll see what I mean.” 

“Yeah. G’night, Swift,” the young woman said, tugging the blanket up close to her chin and reaching for her bunk’s control panel.

“G’night, Sol.” 


	17. little oaths

**_Coruscant, Galactic City, Grand Army of the Republic Headquarters, 22BBY_ **

Between the GAR’s barracks and its command offices, there was a massive durasteel and permacrete bridge with a cover. It was ponderous, for all that it hung in the air. Below it were fields of weird, spongy plasturf on the high roof of the structure that held the Jedi Temple and its surrounding clusters of important buildings a couple thousand stories off the actual surface of the planet. Sol couldn’t help but wonder what the column was at bottom, in the fabled Coruscant underworld, or even halfway up. She leaned onto the broad upturned lip of the bridge, arms folded on its stonelike surface, and watched a blue-and-white mass of plastoid armor below moving in synchronized bursts. 

She knew by the colors that it was the 501st Legion, Anakin’s men. Or, one company’s worth of them, at least. They were drilling something, probably ground attack formations and marches she didn’t know the first thing about. Not yet. Pretty soon, she’d likely know them inside and out. 

To be fair, Windu was right. She had no experience working on a team. The thought of leading a whole battalion was almost too unfathomable to her to be frightening. Her keen eyes watched the men as they formed up, splintered off, ran in lines and shapes, and regrouped like a strange flock of birds. From afar they looked like two hundred of the same man, but she could see the little hints of personalization on their armor in the form of painted designs. Some of them wore extra armor pieces and pouches. And if you really paid attention, you could tell they didn’t all move just the same, though all their movements carried a weight just like Ponds’ did. 

Finally her eyes wandered to their leader. He was wearing a captain’s pauldron and a leather kama, pointing and signalling and shouting orders and affirmations and the occasional fond lash which his men sometimes retorted back at. Their familiarity with each other was evident, and she felt a little burble of envy in her chest. 

Then her eyes landed on the captain’s helmet, and she blinked a moment in surprise. Despite her father’s renunciation of his culture, he had still acquainted her with many of its hallmarks-- mostly, he said, to help her spot Mandalorians, should they run into any, so they could steer clear.  _ Dar’manda  _ were shunned by most Mandos, but utterly despised by others. And a Mando’s harsh judgement usually came in the form of plasma fire, and then some. Cultural markings were distinct and clearly brandished, particular to their heritage.

And there were a pair of blue jaig eyes right there on the clone captain’s helmet, plain as day. Her heart thudded in her throat. How had a  _ clone  _ ended up with those? She stared, rooted to the spot all of a sudden. 

“Hey! Sol!” came a voice that shook her out of her spooked stillness. She whipped her head around to see Anakin, Master Kenobi, and a clone in orange and white armor with his helmet tucked under his elbow, all striding along the bridge. Anakin was grinning in his usual way. “What’re you doing up here?” 

“I’m, uh, watching,” she replied with a shaky little laugh, pushing the jaig eyes out of her mind. That was a question for another time. “Hello, General, sir,” she added to the other two men with a nod.

“How are my men doing? Behaving themselves?” He smiled down at them, clearly endeared to his troops. 

“About as well as you do, I’m sure,” Kenobi teased. 

“Good,” Anakin replied, clearly used to the game. 

“Sol, this is Commander Cody,” the other Jedi said to her, gesturing to the clone beside him. 

“Ma’am,” Cody said with a nod of his head.

“I heard you’re coming with us to the Naboo system?” Anakin interjected cheerfully. 

“Only to hitch a ride to Kamino,” Sol replied. 

“Has Master Windu decided, then?” Kenobi asked, harking back to a conversation from not long ago. Sol nodded, and there was ever a mixture of emotions under her otherwise stoic exterior. 

“Decided what?” Anakin asked. “What’s on Kamino? Other than the clones, of course.” 

“That’s just it. I’m training with the clones for the next year.” 

“That long?” Kenobi asked, apparently surprised. “I thought they were  _ rushing  _ you into service.”

“This war better be over before you get out,” Anakin muttered. 

“It was the Kaminoans’ suggestion,” Sol explained. “To ensure my training is as thorough as possible, given the circumstances. I suppose they can always pull me out if I’m needed that badly, though.” 

“Mm. Well, this could be quite an adventure for you,” Kenobi said, stroking his beard, ever tactful. “Don’t you think, Cody?” 

“I do, sir. You’re training  _ with  _ the clones?” Cody’s face betrayed his surprise, but not precisely disapproval. 

“The commandos, yes.” Sol fidgeted with the hem of her tunic. “As one of them. They’ll be holding me to the same standards as everybody else.”

“That should be... interesting. But they’re good men, and our trainers are the best. Not that I’m biased, of course,” he added with a little grin that took some of the tension out of the air. Sol smiled back. 

“I have no idea what to expect, but that’s heartening, Commander,” she said to him.

“You might stay and talk if you like, Cody, but Anakin and I have to head back to the Temple,” Kenobi said. “Contact me on the comm if you need anything.” 

“Yes, sir,” the clone said with another stiff, deferential nod. That was the one motion that all the clones seemed to do in the same way. The two robed men turned to make their way towards the offices, and the exit. 

“See you tomorrow, then,” Anakin said over his shoulder, throwing Sol a wave. She just nodded back before she turned to Cody, whose eyes had wandered out over the men below. 

“Just got back from Kamino,” he said without looking at her. “Seppies tried to hit it. We clones took that very personally.”

“I can imagine,” Sol murmured, turning back to look out over the scene with him. The men were breaking into groups, clusters of five and five facing one another. Throwing rubber balls in the air, snatching them playfully from one another’s grasp. “I assume you won?” 

Cody’s grin signaled that she might’ve hit on something like clone humor. Or soldier humor. Or both. “Nah, they leveled us flat. S’why there’s so many of us here now,” he replied. Sol chuckled. 

“I see.” She lingered a moment, trying to push past her general unwillingness to disturb quietude. It was a long habit not easily unlearned for her, to ask questions. “What  _ is  _ it like there, Commander?” 

“On Kamino? Rainy. Really kriffing rainy,” he said, shaking his head. “But the cities are domes built over the sea, so they manage. Training’s brutal though, I won’t lie. Especially for commandos.”

“That, I did expect.” She did not seem at all deterred.

“The clones have a creed, ma’am, you should know about. It’s that we look out for each other. Not just in the field. All the time.” Finally he looked over at her. She saw the scar running around his right eye, presumably from some battle or another. “We’re brothers. Buddies. Till the end. It’s different, being a clone.” 

“Yeah. That makes sense. Some people seem to think you’re like slaves.” Her brow was a little furrowed. “Do you think that’s true?” 

“We’re trained from the start for one purpose, and arguably we were purchased like slaves. But the GAR feeds us, cares for us, gives us a little stipend. For the brief stints of R&R we get. And the Jedi, especially, see us as people,” he said, almost like he was trying to decide. “I don’t think we’re quite slaves. But we’re not the same as everyone else.” 

Sol would have been more surprised at a simple answer. She glanced back out again, her gaze drawn back towards the jaig-eyed helmet almost involuntarily. “But you don’t get retirement. You’re expected to die in this war.” 

“Every clone knows that, and we’ve accepted it. Our leaders have to know it, too. It’s part of the deal.” 

“I was afraid you’d say that. Not sure it makes me feel better.”

“Armor’s the best in the galaxy, though,” Cody added, as though he were trying to cheer her up a little. “Not quite blaster-proof, unfortunately, but the best you can get short of that. But you Jedi don’t typically get a full kit.”

“I’m not a Jedi,” she replied, her grin a little wry. “And I much prefer armor, anyway. It’s what I’m used to.”

Before the commander could respond, another set of clanking boots rang down the breezeway. Ponds was walking towards them from the offices to the barracks, and he gave a wave of recognition as he approached. 

“You sightseeing?” he asked, grinning.

“Oh sure,” Cody replied, “just, you know. Watching the boys in blue.” 

Ponds shook his head ruefully as he leaned his elbows on the permacrete, nudging Sol with his arm in greeting. “Sons of bitches. I’m just mad we don’t have time to beat them in bolo-ball before we ship out again.” 

“We haven’t beat them in ten weeks, Ponds. I’m starting to lose faith.” 

“I’m holding out hope. Rex  _ is  _ good. But I’m sure your boys in the 212th can give them a run for their money.” He turned his head to look at Sol at last. “You ready, kid?” 

“I’m twice your age,” she reminded the commando. 

“In clone years I’m twenty.” 

“Then we’re the same age. So my point still stands.”

“Our ol’ boy Captain Rex down there says experience outranks everything,” Ponds said. “So until you come back from Kamino as a commander and beat me in arm wrestling, I reserve my right.” 

Cody was chuckling on her other side. “Don’t worry, he pulls rank with everybody. It’s all hot air.” 

“I’ll beat you when I get back, Ponds. Promise,” Sol said, returning his previous arm-nudge. The true depth of her ‘experience’ was not common knowledge, and she preferred it that way. The commando grinned, his version of a very particular type of grin all the clones seemed to have as naturally as breathing.

“You know, I believe you. But I’m looking forward to you proving it.” 


	18. what's taken away

**_Kamino, Tipoca City, Clone Military Education Complex, 21BBY_ **

Behind her helmet, Sol Tannor’s eyes flickered between points of data on the heads-up display on her visor. Live rounds whizzed overhead, a strange precipitation she’d grown nearly desensitized to. Crouching behind cover, she and Grip surveyed the data they had. 

“I think that turret’s mobile,” the clone said, his voice crisp through the commlink in her ears. The full kit for commandos was new, shiny, and much more enjoyable to drill in than the old practice suits they’d had up until very recently. “The blasts are coming in at shifting angles.”

“You’d think,” came Twofer’s voice from where he, Swift, and Stone were all crouched behind more cover nearby, “they’d give us a few mortars for the final kriffing test, seeing as we’ll have them in the field.” 

“You just like blowing shit up,” Sol muttered, and it would normally have been in better humor. But something just wasn’t right-- and hadn’t been for a while. She felt like her awareness was dulled ever since she’d accepted the chip that Nala Se and the Kaminoans had made; while it had cut her pain down a great deal, which was a relief so profound she couldn’t describe it… something else was off. She felt a little outside her own body, and her sense of incoming fire had all but vanished. Her muscles always felt a little slow. And sometimes, even her emotions seemed blunted. Not bottled up, which was a default state she had finally begun to let go of. Just as though there wasn’t as _much_ of them as before. That should’ve been a relief, too, maybe. But it wasn’t. 

“I think we should use a V-form, but two of us can split off and come at them from both sides,” Swift suggested. “Let’s not overcomplicate things.”

“There’s an air turret, too, though,” Sol reminded him. “Can we get two head on, two flanking, and one for cover? Swift, can you take it out?” 

A helmeted head popped up over a crate nearby, then vanished just before a targeted plasma blast could hit it. “Yeah, I think so. Can’t waste a second, though. Might pop up just behind everyone else, if you’re willing to draw its fire.” 

“These things are too fast. It’s kind of ridiculous that we don’t have any ordnance,” Twofer said. “I mean, really. Nothing but Deeces? And vibroblades-- lot of kriffing good _they’ll_ do.” 

“We’ve got what we’ve got,” Sol said, “and we’ve got each other. Let’s nail this, boys.” 

For all her feeling very strange lately, Sol had managed to step into her own in a way that the clones had noticed. And, given the success they’d seen in spite of increasingly difficult training, they respected it. On Swift’s call, they sprang up and dodged blaster fire, forming exactly as they’d discussed. Swift’s first shot sent the high turret sputtering. 

“Atta boy Swift!” Grip called as he fired at one of the moving ground turrets.

“On your six, Cronos,” Swift replied, following his teammates as they pushed forward. At that moment, as a trail of fire followed close on Towfer’s heels, Stone suddenly crashed into the moving turret from behind, crushing its top portion with his bodyweight and just shy of thirty kilos of armor. 

“Shit, Stone! You really got it!” Swift laughed. 

“I noticed they seem to respond to weapons fire before movement,” the larger clone said, chuckling. In this way, the commandos-in-training managed to dodge and weave their way through the _Citadel_ program, outsmarting every gun and droid they came across, hot-wiring a doorway under fire, and finally reaching the last room where the blinking rod that was their final goalpost was up atop a little terraced pyramid… with a mess of airborne blaster droids between them and it. 

“Stealth part’s over, squad!” Sol shouted. “Time to bum-rush them and take cover!”

“Seriously? No grenades for _this?_ ” Twofer was beyond just complaining now, as their fire battered into the floating droids before they ducked beneath nearby crates. “That seems rigged, somehow. On top of no way to do rapid entry back at that doorway, which ruined our time--”

“Can it, Twofer!” Swift was beyond worrying about it, though he would’ve agreed that the sheer risk level and lack of standard equipment going in was starting to feel a little suspect. “Now we know what to do if we ever run out!” 

“Always looking on the bright side, _vod,_ ” Stone murmured before he sprang up, took out a droid, and ducked again. 

“Twofer wouldn’t let us run out if he could help it,” Sol added, eliciting a chuckle from more than one comm. If she wasn’t quite feeling the usual flush of joy at their camaraderie, she could at least help them feel it. “I’m pushing the line up. Anybody wanna ride with?” 

“Hell yeah!” As she ducked forward around the crate, firing at the hanging droids, Grip and Swift joined her in a dash up to the next nearest stack. 

“Hey, wait for us!” Twofer and Stone came next. They both managed to take out a droid. Sol held in her distant worry that she’d barely managed half the targets she usually dropped. And her knee was, inexplicably, starting to hurt. A sharp, stabbing pain shot up from it in flashes with every step.

Suddenly, she looked up and realized a half-second too late that one of the droids had come around _behind_ them with an almost baffling amount of stealth and was taking a shot at Swift. Before she could shout, the blast seared into his shoulder, and he let out a strangled yelp before he pointed his blaster at it and dropped it then and there. 

“Swift!” she shouted, cursing her reaction time, cursing everything. It was like her bones were made of lead. 

“I’m okay,” he growled, clutching his shoulder. “I still got a left arm.”

“You’re our cover fire now, unless we’re _really_ screwed later,” she informed him. “Keep that sniper arm working, _verd._ ” 

“Got it.” Sometimes he still pushed back on her, stubborn as he was, but thankfully this was not one of those times. “You should push up, we’re halfway there.” 

“Are they supposed to do that?” Grip murmured, eyeing the sputtering, toasted droid on the floor.

“Most droids aren’t that smart,” Twofer replied, an edge creeping into his tone. “And something in our HUDs should’ve spotted it if we didn’t. I don’t like it.” 

“We’re commandos,” Stone said. “We’re meant to be pushed hard. Joke’s on them, right?” 

“Yeah.” Grip’s grin was back, she could hear it. “Let’s waste ‘em and clear this thing. Wanna rush ‘em all the way home?” 

“Quick ‘n dirty will get you shot, Grip. You in a hurry?” Sol wasn’t feeling like watching any more of her teammates get wounded that day. 

“There’s only three left,” Twofer pointed out. “With Swift covering, we might just get them all in one go.” 

Sol didn’t like it. These droids were _fast._ Faster than she could remember them ever being. If she was honest, the fact that the boys were starting to suspect just how unusually disadvantaged they were came as a relief. She hadn’t been sure it wasn’t just in her head, along with everything else that felt different. 

“Humor me and only push up halfway, please,” she said. “Let’s take them in two, and double our chances.” 

“Fair enough. On three.” Grip’s fingers counted, and all but Swift leapt out to rush up to the line of cover that was more or less halfway to the pyramid.

One droid hit the ground. Twofer groaned, clearly disappointed. “I hate this. This is reg stuff, not commando stuff. We’re supposed to sabotage things, not tackle lines.” 

“Surely at some point we’ll have to do both,” Stone said, eternally practical. “Let’s not waste time.”

“On three again.” Once more, Grip counted. The last two droids dropped, but not before one managed to singe Twofer’s boot. 

“Kriff!” he barked, jumping and then holding the injured foot up off the ground. “Somebody get that _kriffing_ blinker!” 

Sol took that as a sign that he’d be just fine, and turned to sprint up the pyramid steps. Needless to say, more little turrets slid out of the structure itself, pinging laser cannon at the cadets. 

“ _Osi'kyr!_ ” she exclaimed, managing to step hard on one of the barrels just as it emerged beneath her foot. The laser it had meant to shoot got stuck behind the bent metal, and a little explosion rattled its insides. “Now, this is getting on my nerves.”

“Just now?” Twofer asked dryly. But she was at the top, taking two huge strides towards the little control panel to slap the button and turn the whole exercise off. A buzzer rang, muffled by the noise suppression sensor inside her helmet, and she caught her breath as the turrets below retracted. 

“Yeah!” came shouts below as the boys raised their rifles and fists. “Well done, Sol!” Beneath her helmet, she smiled hugely. 

“Yes, very well done.” The voice was behind her-- and before she could turn, something slammed into her back and knocked her forward onto the blinker pole and its control panel, pushing the wind from her lungs. She clattered to the side and rolled onto her back, gasping for air. 

Above her stood B’arin Apma, holding a WESTAR-35 blaster pistol so she could see down the barrel. Instinct and adrenaline kicking in like they never had in any battle sim, she jerked her head to the side to avoid the first shot and swung her leg around to swipe at his. She was almost shocked that it worked, and Apma clattered to the floor in a percussion of armor. 

A commotion had arisen below, shouts of dismay and disbelief. 

“Sarge! What are you _doing?_ ” screamed Swift as he moved forward from his position. 

“Sol, he can’t hear me, I’m on the squad channel,” Grip said. The helmets were soundproofed, so the external speakers could be turned off to let the soldiers speak between themselves. She was hauling herself upright, pain pulsing out from somewhere deep inside her chest with every inhale. “What the hell is going on? Is this supposed to be a joke?”

“That’s it!” Apma was laughing, scrambling up almost in unison with her. “There’s that Mando spark!” 

“Are you out of your mind?” Sol was baffled, horrified-- though, maybe after his little attempt at a pep talk a month ago, she shouldn’t have been. 

“Go right so I can take a clear shot at him!” Swift’s voice came through the comm in her ear. She blinked several times, letting the HUD slip her into the private channel. 

“No, Swift, his armor’s _beskar._ It’s blast resistant. Don’t bother.”

“What the kriff are you gonna do, then?” 

As if in answer, she took a nearly point-blank shot at the sergeant’s pistol hand with a flick of her wrist. Finally, she thought, her reflexes were starting to make sense again-- for how long, though? The WESTAR jerked out of Apma’s grip to the floor, tumbling down the pyramid steps and throwing sparks like rain around it as it went. But as soon as it was gone, he’d jerked his other one-- of course he had two, she thought-- from its left-side holster and aimed it at her. They both stood still, barrels trained on one another.

“I challenge you to best me, Sol Tannor. No weapons. Hand-to-hand only.” His voice, even from under his T-visor helmet, was almost maniacal. “This is the way.”

Suddenly, it made sense. Apma was here to prove something to her, something about her Mandalorian blood, as though he could inspire loyalty in her by making her fight the traditional duel of their-- _his_ people. 

Her father’s belief that such an ideology rendered them all fools in the end rang in her ears.

“Fine,” she said, blinking her speakers back on, voice surprisingly even. “But no harm will be done to these men. Just you and me.”

“Of course. But they cannot help you, either.”

“That’s fine, too.”

“Now, wait just a minute--”

“Stand down,” she cut Twofer off. Blinking her way into the squad channel again, she added, “Wait for my signal.” 

She wasn’t a Mandalorian, after all. 

Holding up her hands, she placed her Deece on the ground. Apma followed suit, and they descended the pyramid to a relatively open space below. 

“I’m gonna try and get a signal out somehow,” Grip said. “There’s gotta be a way to get security in here. No kriffing way this is protocol.”

“Be careful,” she urged him as she and Apma crouched and began to circle one another. Never more than now had she felt the sense of drag on her movements, though her anger was starting to bubble up, finally. And every step, every breath was painful. But that, even at such intense levels, was easier to cope with than the feeling that she was moving underwater. 

Apma sprang first, which she’d anticipated. She ducked away from him, resuming their stand-off. When he lunged again, she feinted and rammed her shoulder plate into his and pushed him aside, sending them both spinning. But the man was a seasoned Mando, and he was barely shaken by the spin, rounding on her with all his strength and knocking her onto her back with his palms against her chest plate. He was trying to come down on top of her and get her into a hold. Even as she grit her teeth and felt a new pain stabbing her lungs next to the other one, she kicked upward with her plastoid boots and sent him flying over and behind her. 

“Ouch,” came the low voice of Twofer over the comm. “That had to hurt.” 

By the time she was on her feet again, Apma had managed the same. He was matching her at least, but with the strange disadvantage she’d so recently acquired she knew she’d flag sooner than later. They danced around each other, each dodging the other’s strikes. It was wildly hard to accomplish anything through his armor, and she knew she was better off wearing him out than anything else. On the next lunge, he landed a kick to her stomach plate with his armored knee, knocking the wind out of her again despite not knocking her off her feet. 

“Okay, that’s enough!” Swift had finally lost his patience, and took all of one step before Grip lunged out to grab his shoulder and stop him-- and a sudden burst of plasma caught Grip right in his solar plexus. Sol’s eyes flew wide open, his gurgling howl ringing in her ears as she spotted yet another blaster in Apma’s hand. 

“ _Hut’tuun!_ ” she snarled, hauling with all the fury and strength she had left into the Mandalorian’s torso. This time, the blood-red eruption of her anger seemed to propel her forward. Another shot rang out, but it flew harmlessly towards the ceiling as she knocked him over and strained her pained knee into the gap between his left cuisse and his crotch plate. Her right arm was braced across his chest, and the hidden vibroblade sprang from her left gauntlet to sizzle less than an inch away from his neck beneath his helmet. She almost didn’t hear the boys shouting, or Stone come up behind her to slam his foot onto Apma’s knee with a grisly _crunch_ and point a blaster at his head. Finally an alarm was sounding, blaring through the room and the halls beyond it. Distant shouts rang out, and the doors of the training hall slid open. 

“You’re lucky I didn’t kill you,” she hissed to Apma. “If Grip dies, I _will_ kill you. Promise.” 

“You broke the code,” he breathed, straining back fruitlessly from the blade that was so close it was warming his skin. She could hear the blackened fury, the burn of his defeat in his voice. 

“ _Shabuir,_ ” she spat, “I told you already. I’m not one of you. You should have listened.”

“A great pity, Sol Tannor. You now have powerful enemies.” 

Her golden eyes might’ve borne holes in his helmet, had a cluster of clone sentinels and Shaak Ti herself not arrived at that moment. 

“What happened here?” the Jedi demanded. 

“Oh, Sarge just got it into his head to attack Cadet Sol at the end of our run,” Stone told her evenly. “But you’ll have to ask him about that.” White armor moved around them, troopers taking hold of the man’s arms and tugging as though to signal that they had it from here. Retracting her blade, Sol slid off Apma and onto the floor, power draining fast from her body. Stone hung near her. 

“Let’s get you all to medical before we do anything else,” Shaak said as she watched them drag the Mandalorian away, cuffing him in spite of his clearly broken leg. “And I’m sorry, cadets. This has never happened before.”

“S’alright,” Sol murmured, reaching shaking hands up to tug her helmet off her head and suck in cool air. “Is Grip okay?” 

“Your teammate is already on his way to the med bay,” Shaak assured her. Nodding, Sol made to stand up. She was nearly on the ground again when Stone’s large hands caught her under her arms.

“Easy there, little’un,” he said gently. “You need a ride?” 

“Don’t pick me up,” Sol told him between gasps, voice straining against the pain in her chest. She knew at least three of her ribs were dislocated or broken or both, and folding her torso might slip one right into her lungs. Which was the last thing she needed, after today. “Help me walk.” 

Swift was on her other side in seconds, supporting her with his unwounded arm. By the time they made it to medical, Sol’s vision was starting to blur. 

“Hang on,” Stone warned her. “Up y’go.” And she was lifted up and laid ever so carefully down onto a bed. Finally, she saw the pinched face and massive eyes of a Kaminoan doctor.

“Get Nala Se,” Sol rasped out between labored breaths.

“Excuse me?” asked the doctor, as if she misunderstood. 

“Get Nala Se and tell her I want this thing in my neck _out_ by the time I wake up. I won’t last a day in the field like this.” 

“Oh, my--!” 

Before she caught the rest of the Kaminoan’s surprised reply, a curtain of darkness fell and swallowed her. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> honestly this girl's dad has set her up for so much struggle anytime she might run into a Mando o_o also i will literally be able to speak Mando'a when i'm done with this i s2g. if at some point y'all want me to post the translation of the words i can, but i try to give context clues!


	19. cronos

**_Republic Pelta-class frigate_ Harbinger, _en route to Coruscant, 21BBY_**

Inside the ship, there was an ever present low hum of the hyperdrive as it slid through the streams between light. The barracks inside it were divided into rooms that had six beds apiece, and looking outside the viewport at the surreal ripple of hyperspace was a little dizzying for most clones the first time around. 

It was far from Sol’s first time. She gazed into it, not really paying much attention as her thoughts ran like akk dogs chasing rodents through her mind. 

“You alright, there?” came a voice through the haze. She turned to look at Swift, who was sitting on the bunk across from her. Down below, Stone had settled into a bed and started to drift off. Grip was pouring over a datapad, and on the next bunk Twofer was idly polishing his DC-17. Not that it needed polishing, just yet, but he carried on anyway. 

“Yeah,” she replied with a little smile. “Just. A lot on my mind.” 

“Well, to be fair, a lot of crazy shit just happened,” Twofer said with his drying rag between his teeth. 

“Wonder when we’ll get our first deployment?” Grip mused below. 

“Soon enough, I’m sure,” Sol murmured. “The war is very much still on.” 

“I heard fresh troops get sent to boring places.” Twofer’s voice was clearer this time, having pulled the rag out of his mouth so he could fold it and wipe down the barrel of his blaster.

“Not commandos,” Sol said. “We get chucked right out into the thick of it.” 

She could nearly feel Twofer’s smile. 

“Aw, so no sightseeing on our first assignment, Sarge?” Swift was grinning. She blinked for a moment, still a little confused by her new title. It had come to her as unexpectedly as everything else in her life, though what startled her was how much more welcome it was than the rest.

“For you, everything’s sightseeing,” she replied. “Welcome to the rest of the galaxy, boys. You still might get to see a few things I told stories about.”

“Hope the holovid’s as good as the book was,” Grip said, and the others laughed. 

\-----

_Kamino, Tipoca City, Clone Military Educational Complex, ten hours prior_

Coming to in a medical bay was something Sol figured she might have to get used to, but she would never relish it. Her body was a little stiff, and she shifted to move her arm against the brilliant lights. 

“See, sir, I told you she wouldn’t be long,” she heard someone say-- Swift, of course. The voices of her squad were as familiar as her own already. 

“I’m not surprised,” came another voice with the barest hint of a chuckle. This one was not a clone. It was a voice she hadn’t heard in a year. 

“Master Windu?” she said, turning her head and blinking. 

“Yes, Sol, it’s me.”

“Where’s Grip? Is he okay?” 

“He’s fine,” Swift said, nodding and casting his eyes behind her. Turning the other way, she saw Grip sleeping soundly on the next bed over, the rise and fall of his chest a reassuring tide beneath the blanket that covered his bandages. 

“ _Jate,_ ” she murmured, smiling. “And you and Twofer?” 

“Also fine.” 

“It sounds like you had quite the adventure on your last day of training,” Mace said, his cool bemusement appropriately collared. 

“It was… strange,” Sol replied, shaking her head. “I hope we kriffing passed.”

“You swearing like a soldier, now?” 

“Sorry, Master. I just… after all that…”

“You passed. Don’t worry.” Now he was almost smiling. This was the most pleasant Mace Windu had ever been in her presence, his eternally serious expression traded for a subdued pleasure. “In fact, you passed with flying colors. I hear you’re as good as any commando.”

“Maybe better,” Swift chimed in, casually sincere. Sol felt her face flush a little. She wasn’t used to compliments. And _that_ one was a stretch. 

“Congratulations, young one. If you’re up to the task, I have an offer for you.” Now she felt her heart thud at Mace’s words, knowing the next chapter was about to open. Wondering if she would like it, if it would make more sense than any of the others had.

“Yes, Master?” she asked, voice a little quiet. 

“The Grand Army of the Republic and the Jedi Council are prepared to offer you the position of Commander of the 707th Battalion,” he told her, clasping his hands before him. 

Several feelings struck her at once. The first was elation-- she’d done it. She’d done something worthwhile, had proven herself worthy of leadership. If being turned down for the Temple Guard had been painful, this was almost healing in its effect. But even as that little joy broke out over her face, she faltered. Her eyes cut up to Swift, whose expression was frozen in a pained attempt to smile.

What about the boys? 

She moved her fingers to grip at the blanket around her waist. It struck her very suddenly that her joints were aching. She almost hadn’t noticed, but the chip was gone. The world felt right again. Like it always had. Uncomfortable, but familiar, and viscerally real. Which meant that Nala Se had done as she’d rather brashly asked, before she’d lost consciousness. She looked down at her hands, then over at Grip, then back at Swift. Twofer and Stone were somewhere, she didn’t know where, but their faces flashed in her mind. 

“Sir…” she began, hesitating, feeling the fear wrap itself around her throat. Anakin’s words from what felt like a lifetime ago were in the back of her mind. About choosing what she really wanted to do, instead of letting the Jedi or anyone else pick it for her. “ _Ori’vor’e,_ for your gracious offer. I’m deeply honored. But sir, I want to stay with Cronos Squad.” 

Mace’s eyebrows lifted, but his expression had fallen opaque. “A commando squad?” 

“Yes, Master.” 

“First of all, you don’t need to call me Master anymore. You can just call me General,” he said, and she could swear he was teasing her. “Second of all, if that is what you really want, then I think it would be unkind of me to push you into anything else. But these men have been asked to join the Special Operations Brigade. They’ll be taking on sensitive, dangerous missions, possibly in the heart of enemy territory. They’ll also be called upon to assist the Jedi Generals whenever and wherever they’re needed on the front lines. Are you certain?” 

“Yes.” There was barely a breath between his question and her answer. He’d never seen her so sure of anything. Behind him, Swift was now grinning a mile wide. 

“Alright then, Sol Tannor. Consider yourself a member of Cronos Squad,” Mace said with a sober smile. 

_Yes!_ came loud whispers from behind the nearby curtain that partitioned off the hospital beds, and Swift rolled his eyes. 

“Just come out, you two,” he said, and Stone and Twofer rounded the corner. Twofer’s grin was ever smug, but Stone just looked happy. “We kinda hoped you’d say that,” Swift admitted a little sheepishly. 

“You gonna ask her?” Twofer nudged Swift’s arm, raising an eyebrow. 

“Ask me what?” Sol asked, brow furrowed in confusion. 

“Er, well. We… we’d like you to be Sergeant of the squad, if you’re willing,” Swift said, tucking his hands behind his back and standing a little straighter. Sol just blinked for a moment, taken aback for what felt like the tenth time since she’d come to only minutes before. “We talked about it,” the clone added. “Before the _Citadel,_ even.”

“You--” Tears were brimming in her golden eyes, and her surprised blinks had turned into furious attempts to keep them at bay. “Sergeant?” 

“Yes,” Swift confirmed, nodding. It was that nod the clones reserved for their commanding officers. All she could do was nod back for a moment. 

“I’d be honored, _verde,_ ” she said finally around the lump in her throat. All three of them smiled. 

“I can’t wait to tell Grip when he wakes up,” Twofer murmured to Stone. 

“Well, it sounds like you’ve found your place, young one,” Mace said, suddenly very serene as he looked down at her. “As soon as you and your men are healed, you’ll be fitted with fresh armor and moved to Coruscant, to stay at the GAR Headquarters until you’re assigned your first deployment.” 

“ _Vor’e._ Thank you, General,” she said, giving him her Mandalorian nod. 

“Thank you, Sol. For your willingness to help us win this war. I look forward to serving beside you.” He offered her a bow-- a strange thing for him to do, now that he was her CO, she thought-- and turned to exit the medical bay, the clones standing at attention as he passed by. Just as he reached the door, he stopped and looked back at her. “Oh, and you missed graduation.” With his barely perceptible grin, he vanished into the hallway. 

“Graduation is boring, anyway,” Swift said, and all three of them drew close to her bed and tugged out stools. “Now, are you gonna tell us about what the kriff happened with Apma?”

“Yeah, half your bones were dislocated after that!” Twofer added.

“ _Wayii,_ ” she groaned. “I just woke up!” 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> that's the end of part 1!! i'm about to publish ch 1 of part 2 right after this, so we can get going into Cronos Squad's adventures during the clone wars :)


End file.
